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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604611">take all the time lost</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanfire/pseuds/oceanfire'>oceanfire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunter X Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Angels &amp; Demons, Alternative Universe - Good Omens, Angels, Chance Meetings, Demons, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Stargazing, World Travel, killua is an angel and gon is a demon, very loosely based though!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:54:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>27,109</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanfire/pseuds/oceanfire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether or not having all the time in the world is a grace bestowed or a curse invoked is one of man’s greatest arguments — a simple yes or no would usually suffice. But when you’re an angel and a demon, created as the sun first rose on Earth’s daybreak, the answer gets a little complicated. </p><p>[alternatively: This is the story of Gon and Killua, and how they take six thousand years to finally get it right.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>128</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>take all the time lost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is just very self-indulgent and is basically good omens minus the actual plot so you don’t need to watch/read it to understand!! and i sincerely hope i don’t offend anyone,, i just thought the dynamic would be interesting </p><p>disclaimer: i literally know nothing about history nor have i travelled a lot. the barest minimum of google searching was done so it’s not accurate at all</p><p>edit: look at this <a href="https://sushizushi.tumblr.com/post/626571231990300672/take-all-the-time-lost-oceanfire-hunter-x">amazing art</a> by sushizushi on tumblr!!!! </p><p>hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Just after the Beginning</em>
</p><p>
  <em>4004 B.C. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Gon has lived through twelve sunsets when he meets Killua for the first time. </p><p>It’s on a day like any other, similar to its predecessors — the sun claims the sky in the morning, clockwork proving its consistency from the very beginning, time’s oldest tale. Gon is still getting used to this new world, Earth as it has been named, still familiarizing himself with a sun that rises only to fall after a short number of hours, brightness that allows itself to condense in a matter of minutes. The sun is right at the edge of the horizon line now, gracing the sky with a watercolor painting of orange hues and clouds lined with the faintest pink. Soon enough, the darkest blue will bleed through and the moon will finally give way to its chase, stars parting through the night sky. </p><p>Gon walks through this green expanse too small to be called a forest, but rich enough in its color and life to name itself as a garden. It must be the first one to grow on the land because everything is alive and unafraid of taking up too much space. Everything is the first here, settling on the first height of <em>befores</em>, new and gated, welcoming but not as open to all. Plants are all around him, vines and roots mingling together as they compete for nourishment, ground being made into burrows, and twigs meshed to make nests on sturdy branches. There are no paths well-woven into the ground yet for him to follow, so Gon has spent countless days chatting up with the animals and discovering different plants and herbs, something new always around the corner. </p><p>It’s a good distraction from the newly black wings that graze over his back and shadow over each and every one of his steps. </p><p>Truth be told, Gon doesn’t remember a time before this — when he was supposedly an angel, halo perched on his head and a blessing on his lips. But he’s fallen now. There are gaps in his memory, but exploring this new garden replaces the worry in his mind, anxiety just an undercurrent to this need to just <em>see</em> what is out there. There isn’t a lot for him to say, blinding white wings on his back now just a dream that had slipped by him too fast for him to gather the remains. He doesn’t really mind it; no point in dwelling on mistakes he is no longer privy to. But there is a curious ache in his chest whenever the stars come up and burst through the sky, knowledge of constellations and astronomy gearing in his head like a misplaced treasure map, and somehow he just knows that he had helped create them. There are his hands, and there are the stars up above, but they feel one and the same. </p><p>He had hung the stars, once. That is for sure. </p><p>Gon continues on, leaves on the shorter trees ruffling his wings. He sighs mentally, resigns himself to another night where he is to spend a good hour or so (time is still not his strong suit, nor is he sure if it ever will be) meticulously preening himself free of stray leaves. He’s just glad the bright green sticks out against the black of his wings. On other days, he’d try the wings out and make a comfort of soaring through the sky, but there is only so much he can do up there, sun beating against his back and clouds a touch away from dissipating in his hands. He doesn’t stray too far from the garden, a voice telling him <em>not quite yet. There is still something for you to discover. </em>There are animals down here though, and sometimes they’ll even play with him. It doesn’t feel so lonely then. </p><p>“Hey, hey. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” A voice hushes through the trees, quiet and comforting. </p><p>Gon stills from where he stands, glancing around to his left where the voice had come from. There is a clearing just a bit beyond a few paces, hidden by thick bushes and unrelenting trees. Gon had assumed it had only been permitting the faintest slivers of sunlight through as guests, but apparently not. </p><p>He doesn’t know what to do, cannot decide whether the instinct to flee is any stronger than his desire to find out who had been speaking, delicate voice lilting in time with the breeze of the wind. This is not the first time he had been confronted with the idea of someone else occupying the very same garden who wasn’t an animal or insect; he had thought it’d be impossible for him to be the only one here. Why would a beautiful garden such as this, lush with life and bright with the sun, be home to only one lonely demon? </p><p>But this is the first time he has heard a voice other than his own in what he thinks might have been a very long time. Someone to prove he wasn’t as alone as he thought he was, that this solitude was not a punishment from the very same beings who had cursed him. </p><p>And in all that revelation, his foot had already taken one step forward without any further admission. He had made his decision. He would not flee, not when the promise of a friend just hung around the next sunset, the telltale excitement and adrenaline crawling over his spine in anticipation for what could be a story’s beginning — for him this time, as the world had already found its own. </p><p>“Hold still, alright? I can’t help you if you keep flapping your wings everywhere.” </p><p>Gon steps even closer, hides himself within the shade and behind the wide trunk of a tree. He prays that his wings don’t rustle with the branches above, but realizes that it would be a hopeful wish more than anything else. Although, that’s what demons should be good at, isn’t it? Lurking and hiding? Well, whatever the case, he hopes he’s doing the right job because when he spots the voice’s owner, his own breath catches, leaving no room for an explanation if he were ever to be found out. </p><p>It’s an angel. </p><p>His hair is the first thing Gon notices, a pristine white catching the light in all the right ways, blazing and soft, curls just the tiniest bit wild, framing his face in the sunlight. His skin is pale compared to Gon’s, free of any freckles, lips curved downward in a halfway scowl in distress. The wings on his back are folded and taut, but are colored the same way his hair is, sunlit with every feather in place. The grass around him does not shrink away from the warmth he exudes — safe and welcoming. It might just be Gon’s eyes, so focused on the boy in front of him, but the world softens around the edges, as if the angel is bending reality into dream without even meaning to. <em>He doesn’t even need a halo</em>, Gon thinks, because he shines so bright within the faint shadows of the trees that there is no questioning what else he might be except for the very truth that spills into Gon. He is beautiful, and he is an angel. </p><p>His attention is brought away from the angel’s face when he hears the faint chirp of the bird in his hands, dark blue feathers guarding its small body, a stark contrast to the angel’s pale hands. The bird struggles a bit in his grasp, wings flapping wildly in every direction. But it never flies away. Gon realizes its wing must be broken then, bent at an unnatural angle, but not so much so that it is an irredeemable mistake, an injury that cannot be undone with time and rest. </p><p>The angel sighs once more, then lets out the smallest groan when the bird tries once more to flee from his hold. Gon doesn’t know what to do, whether to announce his presence and offer his assistance, but that could end up with both the angel and the bird fleeing away from him, leaving him alone all over again. </p><p>He doesn’t need to come to a decision, however, because the angel is speaking again. “I know you’re over there. You should come out.” </p><p>Gon freezes, surprise holding him back from jumping from his spot. “I’m sorry,” he says, mind racing over all the words that suddenly rush back to him, getting over their initial shock of seeing the angel. He doesn’t dare move an inch, doesn’t dare breathe any more air than he needs. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” </p><p>“Like you could,” the angel scoffs. His voice is wary, eyes wide with suspicion, but for some reason, Gon can’t sense any distrust. It must be an angel thing, he supposes, because when Gon had been with other demons (which had been for a very limited time as they were not the most sociable creatures), distrust and malice was all he could feel, radiating off of everyone in waves until he could feel no other emotion. It was an unpleasant feeling, crawling all over his skin and clinging onto his clothes. One of the first rules of being a demon: never trust another. But Gon doesn’t want to rule out this angel so quickly. They’ve only just met, after all. </p><p>“I really didn’t,” Gon says, not wanting to sound like he was apologizing because that would only further prove he was guilty. Demons aren’t supposed to apologize, either. “I just heard your voice and I got curious. It’s been a while since I heard something other than myself.” </p><p>The bird squawks in the angel’s hand, drowning out the sound of his possible reply. Instead of stepping back, Gon only pushes himself forward, out into the sun and into the direct view of the angel. His wings are in clear view now, and he almost doesn’t want to look up to see the angel’s reaction, to see the possible disgust and repulsion bloom ugly on his face. </p><p>But Gon is a demon, and he won’t ever be anything else, so it’s about time he owns up to it. There is nothing to be ashamed about if he doesn’t let it look over him; shame is only ever given to you, unnatural and wily. So he looks up, black wings refusing to stay hidden behind his back, and the angel does look a bit surprised, but strangely, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards to form the ghost of a smile. </p><p>It's not the smile that almost causes him to lose his balance, however. It’s his eyes. </p><p>If he had thought the angel’s hair had been its own makeshift halo under the sun, bright and in the constant pursuit of attention, his eyes are the most brilliant blue he’s ever seen, luminous enough to rival the sea that Gon has only seen way up on the clouds. There is a grandness to him, punctuated only by the way his eyes shine in the sunlight, maybe even when there isn’t any. It’s startling and starlit, a kaleidoscope reflection of a hundred shades of blue Gon could not name, but he would surely try, if this angel would let him. </p><p>The bird chirps once more, and Gon forces himself to stop staring at the angel, attentive gaze now on the small animal he carries in his hands. “I can help,” he says. “I think I’m pretty good with animals.” </p><p>The angel just looks at him for a moment, uncertainty written plainly on his face. Gon’s almost sure he’s about to turn away from him, suspicion giving way to trust, but then he nods. “I don’t see why not,” he shrugs. </p><p>Gon’s eyes widen slightly at the permission, a little bit confused. He doesn’t why this angel is so trusting of him, despite the initial wariness, when everything about his own appearance represents age-old quarrels and grave mistakes, falling until there was only this left of him. White coat of feathers versus signature black, shimmering blue eyes to a brown that feels too yellow to ever be gold. He is a demon, and angels are to be avoided by default, hereditary enemies until the world counts one second too many. He is a demon, but there is an angel right in front of him, allowing him to help an injured bird. </p><p>Gon takes a step forward, until he is crouching next to the angel, watching the bird uncomfortably find a resting position in his hands. He tries not to think about how close he is to the angel, how he can feel the warmth he radiates, an unknown emotion filling his chest, bubbly and the most comforting thing he’s felt in a long time. It's rich and full, like the heat of the sun and the constant meeting of waves on shore, and Gon has the sense that it is something that he isn’t allowed to have. </p><p>“Can’t you just,” Gon makes a vague emotion with his hand, “miracle it better?” </p><p>“I would have already if it would just hold<em> still</em>,” the angel says, losing a bit of balance as the bird continues to squirm. Its feathers have gotten terribly rumpled in the chaos, midnight blue against pale hands. </p><p>“Here, let me,” Gon says. He takes the bird from the angel’s hands, careful and slowly to not agitate the bird. He doesn’t want to accidentally brush his fingers against the angel’s either, doesn’t want to risk him flinching away when he’s barely gained his trust. </p><p>Gon doesn’t know why he wants it so bad, this need to befriend the angel borne out of nothing. He chalks it up to curiosity and maybe a little bit of loneliness. </p><p>The bird struggles in his hands, and Gon brings up a finger to smooth its feathers down, touch light and without any excess pressure. It chirps in his hands, the barest hint of a song leaving its mouth, no longer a distress call. He keeps at the repetitive motion until the bird finally relaxes, legs no longer threatening to scratch him and wings folding at its sides as best as they can with the injury. </p><p>“How did you do that?” The angel says, clear wonder in his voice. Gon tears his gaze away from the bird to find the angel staring at him, blue eyes wide. Gon doesn’t know if he’ll ever be used to the sight. </p><p>He shrugs instead of a proper answer. He hadn’t done much really, just knew that the bird had wanted to be comfortable more than anything else, which was already a tough ordeal with the surprise of a broken wing. The least he could do was smooth out its feathers and try not to stress it out even further. </p><p>“I’ve been trying to calm it down for ages,” the angel says. </p><p>“I guess it was instinct,” Gon tells him, allowing himself a small smile. He stares down at the bird in his hands, whimpers still sounding through the trees but no longer as pressing. He wants to coo at it, really, but stops himself before he could embarrass himself. “It’s okay, little guy. You’ll be okay. Let the nice angel take care of you, alright?”</p><p>“Nice?” the angel asks beside him, bewildered. </p><p>Gon raises his eyebrow. “You’re an angel. Aren’t you all supposed to be nice?” </p><p>The angel just stares at him, something dawning on his face, a soft blur between surprise and another emotion Gon hopes is still something good. His cheeks are dusted with the faintest pink, a light brush over his cheekbones. “Oh. Yes.” </p><p>Gon goes back to comforting the bird in his hands, helping it settle down comfortably within the curves and grooves that shape his palm, veins hardly traceable underneath the glow of the sun. He sucks in a small breath as the bird nips at his thumb, but it’s not an attack. It was just out of curiosity. </p><p>He looks up at the angel beside him. “I think you can heal him now.” </p><p>“Oh, okay. Give me a second,” the angel replies. He stares at the bird for a moment, makes a small wave with his hand, and with a small <em>pop!</em> that’s barely loud enough to reach the edges of the clearing, the bird’s wing snaps back into place, straightening itself out with divine intervention, feathers slotting themselves amongst the packed blue. </p><p>Gon watches this all in amazement, eyes widening at the fluid automation, miracle wish granted without the danger of a price. Theoretically, he would be able to do the same thing, speed up the bird’s healing process, days collapsing into milliseconds, but it would have never been accompanied by the grace and elegance the angel had performed with. There are skills one can attain over hardworking and daily toil, but none as grand or noble as an angel’s innate knack for healing. </p><p>The bird, for the first time since Gon had known of its existence, sings a short happy tune, happily hopping in place at the center of his hand. If it weren’t for the newly healed wings, Gon would worry about it toppling over his hand and falling. It looks up at him expectantly now, head tilting to the side, as if requesting permission. Gon gives it a small smile, and looks towards the angel. </p><p>“It’s ready to fly away now,” he tells him. </p><p>The angel just nods at him, a grin making its way to his face, content at the job well done. There’s a gratifying feeling hanging in the air, Gon feels it too, but as it may be familiar to the angel, he’s never felt this peculiar warmth in its chest that only grows as the bird readies itself for flight in his hand, wings spreading the same way Gon’s found himself doing time and time again, bidding its goodbye with a loud chirp. </p><p>Gon gives the bird a little boost as he draws his arms high in the air, extending them towards the sky the bird has always been meant to reach. It circles around both his and the angel’s heads, once, twice, before letting out another pleasant tweet and heading east, towards the setting sun. He eyes it until it’s a distant dark dot lost between the orange clouds in the heavens, soaring through the wind as if it had never known injury before, unafraid and free. </p><p>Gon looks at the angel who now stands beside him, looking as elated as he unadmittedly feels at the prospect of having helped such a small creature, even within this garden of multitudes of nature’s offsprings. The smile on the angel’s face is no longer a shadow of a real one, corners turned upwards and eyes alight with stars that are only yet to make their appearance. His face is bright even as the sun sinks even lower into the sea, and Gon thinks he’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen in this garden so far. </p><p>Huh. </p><p>Suddenly, as if Gon is only now fully realizing the situation he’s in, everything in his nature is screaming at him that he really shouldn’t be here anymore, go say his goodbyes, and flee now. This is an angel, you are a demon, and this is not right. Run away before it’s too late, before you are burned any further by this angel that has done nothing but glow in the afterset of the sun, before you start to see this undoing as your salvation. Leave before you learn his name, a single word that will spill out of his lips just this once in formality but will ring forever in your mind for years to come. Turn back before this delicate <em>now </em>becomes a tangible <em>something</em>, more real than all the constellations in the sky. </p><p>“What’s your name?” the angel asks. And there is no more turning back, for it is too late now, but Gon cannot feel the doom instilled in him over the beating of his heart. He had made his decision long ago, honestly, when he had stepped foot into this clearing and had laid his eyes on the angel before him. The minutes feel like they’ve been stretched into years, a familiar turn, which doesn’t make sense, because how can you miss someone you’ve just met? </p><p>“Gon,” he breathes out, head full of the blue eyes that look at him now, a complement to the orange light that shrouds them. </p><p>“I’m Killua,” he gets in reply. Behind him, Gon faintly registers the larkspurs that bloom behind him, a deep purple newly turned poisonous. </p><p>Killua smiles at him still, equally unsure of what to make their predicament. But he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t bid Gon farewell. Instead, he faces towards the direction of the distant sea, which has now undone the brightness of the sun. The world around them grows dark with each passing second, blue and black drowning out the tangerine and pink. </p><p>“I didn’t realize it would be nightfall already,” Killua wrinkles his nose as his smile loses its form. He looks up to where the stars should be, an audience waiting, but the stars seem determined to keep them waiting tonight. </p><p>“You don’t like the night?” Gon asks. He doesn’t have a preference, especially with the absence of dreams lately, but demons were expected to thrive in it. That is where terrors of the dark would occur, after all. </p><p>“Just think it’s too long, is all,” Killua explains, brow furrowing as he faces Gon once more. “Too much time before the sun comes up and it always feels like something is about to go wrong.” </p><p>“I don’t know,” Gon says, thoughtful. The stars have started to appear, blinking their way into appearing, relishing their time to shine, forever encore to the sun’s performance, but always one to stay for. “It doesn’t seem too bad tonight. And I’m here with you, an angel, so nothing else could possibly be worse — at least in Heaven’s books — don’t you think?” </p><p>Killua stays silent and Gon doesn’t look at him to see his reaction. An angel and a demon, sharing a night sky, peacefully and quietly. That would be a story to tell one day, Gon just knows it, wherever this may lead to. He’ll take this adventure, and figure out where he wants to go. </p><p>“I just like to think the night can be a little hopeful,” Gon says. He doesn’t say that it’s because it’s an open opportunity for the wrongdoing and evil he’s supposed to encourage, because while it is true, that’s not why he has learned to find comfort in this cycle of celestial beings. “Even if it’s dark out, that’s what the stars are for. To guide us wherever we need to be.” </p><p>“I guess so,” Killua says after a while. The crickets have begun their parade just around the corner, growing louder with every twinkle of the latest star. </p><p>They watch the moon assume its position among the stars. He doesn’t know what to make of any of this, but Gon feels like dawn is finally breaking for the first time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Thessaly, Ancient Greece</em>
</p><p>
  <em>365 B.C. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The waves play its rhythmic crashes as they touch the shore, back and forth, leaving and returning to where they must be and where they yearn to go. Water barely nips at the tips of his toes as Gon stands on the very edge of the beach, sand warm and fine underneath his skin. The sun had just risen, and Gon eyes his shadow lost among the white sea foam and shells that collect in front of him. There are no more wings protruding from his back; when he had first started blending among humans, he had learned how to keep them hidden. </p><p>Gon looks out at the sea in front of him, sea breeze billowing his clothes in all directions, salt on his lips and the sun heavy on his shoulder. He had learned about the different myths and legends of this land, of course, having memorized who domains over what and the traditions that must be respected and practiced. Stories come to him slightly altered each time, word of mouth the biggest traitor to itself and the truths it seeks to impose unto others. But their essence always remains the same — tragedies brought on by heroes seeking glory and honor. He wonders why they never seek to be happy. But it’s hard enough to find when you’re destined to live through each millennium, so he can’t blame them for setting their sights on other treasures. </p><p>The latest legend popularized in this small town by the beach is unsurprisingly, of the hero who had once grew up on this very land, had run laps afternoons over on the beach he had made his own. Gon has heard the story of Achilles before, and by association has learned of Patroclus, as they were never apart. He doesn’t know if they were any more myth than reality, but as he looks out into the water, he marvels at their tragedy. The sea nymphs may have loved him, but the ocean was unfathomable and cruel, continuing to exist only to spite man. For all of the Greeks who had aimed for grandness, eternal glory had not been enough in the end, to pay for what Achilles had lost due to the war — his best friend, his partner, his beloved. </p><p>He ought to ask Killua what he thinks about it, if he ever comes across the angel again. </p><p>Gon hasn’t seen Killua in several decades, their last interaction being cut short due to a riot that had been pushed too far off the edge. By some funny intervention on fate’s behalf, they had both been stationed here on Earth, the only two from his knowledge, carrying the task to watch over humans and create miracles and temptations here and there. Still, they don’t see each other a lot. Gon’s only seen him once on Earth ever since the first meeting in the garden. Mostly, Gon spends his time exploring new forests and cities, mingling with merchants and tourists from all over the world, and learning about the different cultures and beliefs humans have come up with over the years. Sometimes, he finds himself missing the tranquility of the garden, especially in comparison to the pollution and noise generated by humans, but there’s so much more he can discover out here that he doesn’t really mind. </p><p>He hopes he sees Killua one day, though. Maybe they could catch up. He should be actively avoiding the angel, but there’s a part of him that wants to see where this friendship — if he may even call it that — will go, what chaos or excitement it could bring to him. Other than that, Killua’s the only one he could talk to about humans and their frequent actions that take him off his guard in surprise, even just for a moment. </p><p>Humans may have essentially stayed the same, even years after the very beginning, but they have undeniably refused to stay stagnant. Urbanization has paved its way through countless lands already, the colonization of mountains and forests with a reckless abandon. It had been a great ordeal, what with the invention of cement and all the different types of building blocks. The world grew larger in front of his eyes. Gon had seen humans learn how to survive, how to create buildings that topple over the horizon line and build communities that aim to last well over a hundred years. They have begun to thrive, individualistic nature coming together in hopes of better futures. But it had also meant that disagreements had occurred more often than they should have, ideals and morals clashing, never striking a balance. There had been a poor fellow, if Gon recalls properly, who had been condemned to death for his different ideas recently. </p><p>Nevertheless, Gon rather liked people. There was an unpredictability in them that one would not find in an angel’s grace or a demon’s venom, a loyalty that could strengthen or waver depending on circumstance, a bravery mustered in newfound hope, as weak as it may be. He would get taken aback by their unabashed kindness more often than not, love blooming even in the most dire times, or would grit his teeth at the cruelest actions, more vile than anything he could come up with. Gon liked people, and that was a major failing in a demon. </p><p>He follows the rules though, whispers a few temptations into people’s ears when the occasion arises, but never anything more serious than a tavern’s mix up of orders for customers or a boat full of impatient sailors that travelled too slowly. Gon doesn’t know why he never does any more, where this fondness had come from, and tries his absolute best to keep it hidden, lest those down below find out about his shortcomings. There was gossip about demons who were too lazy, refused to do their jobs right, and how something worse than corporal punishment awaited them. Being a demon was already a strike in Heaven’s books, to be in Hell’s served a different type of accomplishment. But they never check up on him so long as he fills out the right paperwork, and he’s allowed to go about his merry way, picking up human’s hobbies the way a child learns how to walk. </p><p>He couldn’t be doing that terrible job of being a demon, after all. Nothing he could ever think up would be half as bad as the stuff humans had brought on themselves. Sometimes, it was like they had a talent for it. </p><p>Gon shakes out of his reverie, turning to trudge his way back to the small coastal town he had decided to visit for the day. There isn’t much he can do in this one, but had decided to give it a look anyway. There are a few new restaurants that are already open for the day, but Gon doesn’t really eat. He’s tried it before and he finds the appeal in it, but it’s not something he necessarily finds himself looking for, especially not the way humans need to in order to live. He decides to try out the restaurant nearest to him anyway because he can’t think of anything else better to do. </p><p>Once he steps inside, he knows he made the right decision. There are a few citizens eating in their seats, alone or with a companion to talk to. They chat among themselves quietly, which has Gon glazing his eyes over them until he sees Killua, tucked away in the corner booth, hair bright despite the shadows that linger over the table he sits next to. </p><p>“Killua!” he says, cheerily, unable to hide his delight. He makes his way to the table, where Killua sits with eyes wide with surprise and back straight. Gon would think he isn’t welcome in the angel’s presence if not for the smile that graces his lips once he recognizes who called his name. </p><p>“Gon,” he greets, nodding at him as he makes space for Gon to sit on the small bench. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” </p><p>“How are you doing?” he asks, taking a seat. Killua’s eating something, Gon doesn’t know what it is, so he assumes it must be a native dish. It’s curious, the things humans are cooking up these days. </p><p>“I’m good,” Killua answers. After a moment, he adds, “I just finished doing a few miracles this morning.” </p><p>Gon raises his eyebrows at the mention of their jobs. He wasn’t sure if that was a topic they were allowed to talk about, especially to each other, but here Killua is, offering information about himself. Gon understands the importance of trust, a hidden gem among the wars that man has raged on, and will unfortunately, continue to do for some time. And if humans hardly trusted each other, then demons treated the word as non-existent. So he takes this fragile thing, and tries not to overstep the line. “Is that why you’re here?” </p><p>Killua looks at him, his sense of duty as present as the sun above. Gon could see the shimmering of his wings if he squinted, like heat distorting a view during a summer day. “Why else would I be?” </p><p>Gon shrugs. “I don’t know.” He didn’t visit villages only to look for any evil opportunities. By Killua’s question, it doesn’t seem like he does the same. “I like to sightsee.” </p><p>“Don’t you have your own temptations to do?” Killua asks. </p><p>“If I told you, would you undo them?” Gon retorts, but there’s not a single trace of suspicion in his voice as the words imply. </p><p>“That depends,” Killua says, stirring his drink. “Would you tell me in the first place?”</p><p>
  <em>Yes. If you asked, I would. I ought to tell Hell, but I want to tell you about my day instead. </em>
</p><p>“Fair enough,” Gon says, swallowing down the words that had threatened to bloom out of his mouth, dangerous flowers that broached the boundary Gon had set himself in for both safety and fear. “I do. Have temptations to make, I mean. But it’s never anything big.” </p><p>“Our definitions of big could be quite different,” Killua says. </p><p>Gon shrugs. “I don’t think so. We could be more similar than you think.”</p><p>Killua raises his eyebrow, which would be quite intimidating if he hadn’t just taken a bite of his food. “How so?” </p><p>“For one, we’re both stuck here.” Gon grins as he takes a piece of Killua’s food from his plate, to which the angel lets out a small indignant sound, but makes no move to take it back. Gon adds, “And I think you like it here as much as I do.” </p><p>Killua scoffs, then flicks Gon’s hand away as he tries his luck once more with Killua’s food. “What makes you say that?”</p><p>“You like the food,” he points out. Killua’s plate is empty, not even a single piece remaining, none wasted. Meanwhile, Gon gestures to his side of the table, where he hasn’t ordered a single thing. </p><p>“That doesn’t prove anything,” Killua mutters. The tips of his ears turn red, as he ducks his face away from Gon’s view. Gon must look incredibly cheeky at his point being proven because Killua sends him a hard glare, but somehow still finds a way to make it the tiniest bit angelic. A flustered angel — Gon has never been granted that sight, and the smile on his face grows even wider. </p><p>“Say, Killua,” Gon says after a while. There are more customers now, so he keeps his voice level but the smile stays permanent. He could do this all day, talk to Killua about anything and everything, if he could. He wonders what that says about him, to have this much fun just talking to an angel, of all things, especially one he has only seen a handful of times. “Have you ever heard of the story of Achilles?” </p><p>In their talk until well past noon, Gon learns three things. First, Killua has the biggest sweet tooth, as he continues to order every sweet delicacy off of the menu faster than Gon can swallow down his single purchased meal. Second, Killua agrees that humans have a tendency to bring down tragedy upon themselves. Third, if Gon rather liked people and this led to a few temptations that went a little below normal demon expectations, Killua kept enough hope for humanity to encase the entire world. This way, they needn’t wish for the happiness they were unaware they desire, because Killua did it for them. </p><p>Lastly, as an unspoken fourth, if Gon could bottle up Killua’s laugh and save it for the stars to hear every night, he would. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Globe Theater, London</em>
</p><p>
  <em>1601</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright?” </p><p>The actress angrily gets back on her feet, glaring at her co-star, who could not have faked any more disinterest than what was currently displayed on his face. Gon couldn’t blame him, not when the sun beats down heavily on all of them in this open theater, leaving no survivors in its quest to shine. It's terribly hot everywhere, humid air no matter where Gon has looked for refuge in this city, and he loathes the type of clothes humans have decided as the newest trend. It sticks to his skin, layers upon layers, all frills and pristine cuts, nothing like the free flowing garments Rome had allowed him to don decades ago. </p><p>“I’m quitting!” the actress shouts, to whom in particular Gon isn’t sure. There are only a few of them right now in the audience, aside from the understaffed cast and irritated technical crew. The sun had been cruel to this place, to have shown no mercy in filling the air with twice the tension as there was heat. The leading actress had been acting stubborn and hot-headed for a few hours now, bad attitude clouding rationality, not even with Gon’s intervention. He figures it might just be his general presence, but all points lead to indifferent co-stars and irritable mannerisms. All in all, Gon doesn’t think this newest play by Shakespeare is going to stake its claim around the world like his previous ones, especially not when it’s main cast doesn’t seem like they can stand each other for more than a couple of hours. </p><p>“No, wait! Please, don’t go!” The manager pleads, scrambling out of his seat after her, towards the exit of the theater. His shouts carry throughout the whole building, words hot and heavy with a tired shadow. </p><p>“Oh, what did I miss?” </p><p>Gon doesn’t jump, even though he’s plenty startled by the voice that slides up to his right side. He would be called a shame to demons if he was the one who had been so visibly snuck up on, after all. </p><p>“Killua!” He says warmly, the corners of his lips already tugging up at the sight of blue eyes lit with amusement. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“You know, the usual. Miracles here and there,” the angel responds. He eyes the manager who had slumped his way back to the front of the stage, muttering grumpily about ungrateful actresses and minimum wage. One of the actors looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “What’s going on?” </p><p>“Play is harder to put on than they thought. I think the new cast isn’t getting along really well,” Gon tells him. </p><p>Killua snorts next to him, watching a few members of the crew attempt to fix the props that had been broken during the actress’ tantrum. “That would be an understatement.” One of the stairwell steps now has a hole in them, threads hang loosely from the draperies, and an actor keeps fiddling with the fake flowers he holds in his hand, petals slowly becoming undone, falling delicately onto the stage. Another actor is off to the side in a poorly disguised drunken stupor. </p><p>“I think it’s the heat,” Gon says honestly, scratching his neck that keeps feeling the brunt of the frills he wears, tickles ghosting his skin with every one of his movements. </p><p>“And what business does a demon have in a theater?” Killua asks, raising an eyebrow at him. He doesn’t look bothered by the heat at all, sunlight only enhancing his elegance, thriving in it as the sky picks him as the target of all the glowing warmth, but none of the heat or burn. He moves more smoothly than anything in this town, and for some reason, Gon knows it has nothing to do with divine inheritance. It’s all Killua, wild curls a competitor to the cloud’s touch and eyes the color of a sleepy sky. </p><p>“I was just passing by. Got something to do in the next town over,” Gon explains. It had been the noise and clamor that had attracted him to the theater, finding none of the famous soliloquies and meticulous acting it had so largely boasted of previously. </p><p>“Huh, would you look at that,” Killua says, voice taking on a curious tone as he looks away from Gon and stares at the damaged props. “So do I.” </p><p>Gon follows his gaze, attention brought to the rather large hole on the stairs no one has exactly noticed yet, too busy complaining about the heat or being entirely too focused on themselves. With an inconspicuous flick of his hand, the hole closes in on itself as if it had never even dared to exist, cardboard strengthening its foundation with no one else any wiser. A trick of the light under the haze of heat. He smiles to himself, proud of the quick work. </p><p>“Gon!” Killua says, swatting his arm in surprise, eyes wide at the staircase, brand new and impossibly perfect. “Why’d you do that?”</p><p>Gon shrugs, faking nonchalance. He hadn’t expected Killua to see what could be called a demon slip-up, but he should have known better. Quicker and shifting eyes were a trait brought onto demons but a knowing glance was a trick only angels could master. “You were gonna fix it either way. I saw you eyeing it.” </p><p>Killua gapes at him, his eyes the only telltale sign of his shock. Gon quietly hopes that he drops it, lets this occurrence slip away like a child’s dream in the morning, and he thinks Killua is about to, but then he speaks up again. “That was an awfully nice thing for you to do.” </p><p>“No, not really,” he says. He can still feel the spot on his arm just above his elbow where Killua had touched him, if only for less than a second. “That one drunk actor is gonna break it again, I can feel it. Then the manager is only going to be angrier and fire him. He’ll be out of a job and absolutely miserable within the day.” </p><p>It's a roundabout way of hurting someone, causing them to lash out from the topple of dominoes instead of the usual influence through whispers, but it’s the only excuse he can offer, the only type of temptation he can handle that doesn’t leave him feeling like spiders are crawling up his arms for days. He’s a demon and this is what he’s grown to be good at, but it doesn’t mean he’s particularly fond of it. Not that anyone is to learn that fun fact about him. </p><p>Killua doesn’t say anything, only eyes him with a subtle smile on his face that Gon would know better to ignore. He narrows his eyes at him. “What?” </p><p>The angel only sends him a shrug in reply, looking at him like he’s never seen him before. The idea of speaking any more about what just happened makes Gon uncomfortable. </p><p>A loud thwack comes from the middle of the stage, but it’s only an actor being hit by a thick bound of script by the lead choreographer. Shouts and disagreements are heard once more, an upcoming sermon bottled in their throats. They resume practice a little rampantly, but not without noting the absence of a specifically important actress. Nevertheless, the theater is a lot more quiet and the heat feels a little less excessive, no doubt due to an angel’s presence, and Gon thinks they ought to count their blessings. They ought to thank Killua, just for being here. </p><p>Gon swallows, voice quiet, “So you’re going to the next town over?” </p><p>“Yes, I am,” Killua replies. There’s an underlying question in his tone, one Gon does not dare insinuate unless the angel decides to lay the cards right in front of him. It would speak of something greater than their spontaneous meetings around the world, more than knowing grins and shared glances in a crowd. He does not need to wait long until he hears it. “Do you want to come with?” </p><p>“Really?” </p><p>Killua does not look at him, stays still to make up for the gentle quaver in his voice, a glass mosaic of fragility. “I don’t see why not.”</p><p>But there are many reasons, and they both know this. It has been instilled in them for too long, prophecies and tragedies and ancient wars too old for an angel and a demon who spend their days on Earth to name. It is the legacy of <em>do not trust the other side </em>and <em>stay away</em>, years and years of stars colliding before they even burn through their incandescence, a clock that has never stopped ticking. An angel and a demon should not be friends. It was written the very second the white wings were shocked deep black for the first time, halo disintegrating into unsettling eyes and lurking shadows. </p><p>There are many reasons, yet here they are, under the direct blaze of the sun but on the edge of a scale that could tip over easily with the choice they are to make. And that would be the problem, Gon thinks, because what Killua is implying is that they will not be choosing a side, at least for a while, on a quick horse carriage ride up north. It is the choice of making the journey in itself, deciding not to just appear over there, but make it so that they will be in each other’s company thirty minutes more than they should ever even be in. If Gon were to agree with this, and not choose a side, then where would he be then? </p><p>He’d be with Killua. That’s for a start. </p><p>And what’s a demon, if not taking a little risk? </p><p>“When we get there,” Gon starts, making sure that he has Killua’s attention, “would you like to have lunch with me?” </p><p>He sees Killua hesitate, fingers dancing with the hem of his shirt. But Gon stays firm, tells himself that it’s okay if Killua tells him no because it would have been better to have tried and have an answer for sure than remain in uncertainty until the next time the angel bumps into him on the street. He will not take it back, not when he stands over at the edge, ready to meet Killua in the middle, even if just for a meal. </p><p>“I believe a table for two has just opened at their most famous restaurant,” Killua says. He’s grinning, and Gon can’t help but mirror his expression, the nerves that had sparked in his fingertips not dissipating, but shifting into something more pleasant, curling over his bones with excitement, a kinder warmth than the sun above them. </p><p>“Was that part of the miracles you needed to perform over there?” Gon teases, pushes just a bit more. </p><p>Killua waves his hand in the air, “Just as long as we do the paperwork, no one should bother us.”</p><p><em>No one </em>being their respective sides, those who govern them and have made the boundaries. The angels Gon used to be part of and the demons who have claimed him. Their sides, disregarded for now. Gon wonders if this will become a recurring thing. A silent part of him hopes so. </p><p>Gon wonders what could be going on in Killua’s mind, to have said yes to Gon’s request, to have rebelled against those who have raised him. He shouldn’t have expected anything else, honestly, from this angel who now stares at him with blue eyes that spark a fire so unlike the one that ravages through Hell, burning and fiery red. Hellfire is the only thing that has ever shown kindness to demons, allowing them to revel in it when they have been introduced to darkness. Killua is a candlestick in comparison to it — one that does not dare compete in brightness, but reigns champion in warmth. What would it be like to be human, to receive all that affection from Killua? </p><p>If Killua were to ever love him, Gon thinks, it would set him on fire. So he keeps it to himself and this theater, poetry spilling from practiced lines and denied hearts. </p><p>Once play practice runs itself boring and tiresome, they leave and no one takes a second look, two beings who had balanced each other out in so close a space their effects have been rendered null for anyone to notice. They have a lunch to attend to now, and it will be the first of many meetings that are no longer spontaneous, planned now with still a bit of hesitance but always received warmly. Gon will learn to count these occurrences and tuck them away in his heart, then maybe the days don’t feel so dreary and repetitive. </p><p>When they leave, he doesn’t notice Killua had never pointed out that the drunk actor was nowhere near the stair props. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Picardy, France</em>
</p><p>
  <em>1738</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Just like always, the sun reunites with the sea and the sky gives up its reign for the stars. They shine especially bright down on him tonight, where light pollution does not seek any dominance. It’s a refreshing sight to behold, one Gon doesn’t think he’ll ever be quite tired of. His fingers tingle with a past habit, the shadows of a routine he once knew where light once traced the heartlines on his palm. He could reach out to them if he wanted to, but chooses to stay standing where he is on the ground, where he can see each and every one of them. If there is any solace in his predicament, it is that light always lingers brightest in the dark. </p><p>Gon can see this town in a few years time, cobblestones hardened as footsteps make their paths well-worn and familiar, walls repainted over and over again to cover up any blemishes forced upon by nature, and gardens overgrown that will only surrender to stubborn shears and effort. It’s a lovely countryside he’s found himself in, tiny houses that don’t block out the breeze and a moon that beams down wherever one chooses to go. It’s well past midnight now, so the usual bustle of tourists and merchants is absent, taken away by the wind’s latest song. </p><p>Usually, Gon would be acting among the people, asleep under warm covers in an apartment that will not see him for more than a week. He doesn’t need to sleep, but he’s grown to see the comfort in it, not having to think for a while as he tries to conjure up long lost dreams. It’s nice, even if it leaves him a bit disoriented afterwards. But he’s in the middle of the streets now, a little restless and a small jolt of energy running through his legs, as he tries to take a walk and tire himself out. </p><p>He looks up at the moon and the constellations that surround it in the sky, tries to remember the way some of them had felt in his hands, but he always comes up a little bit short. There’s the Centaurus constellation off to his right side, Alpha Centauri as bright as ever, Orion’s Belt is just a ways off, and he thinks that’s Antares from Scorpius over there. The moon is fuller than it’s been in weeks, easily spotted from where the clouds try to hide it, veil surpassing. Gon moves his eyes off to the side, where there is something else that glints in the starlight. </p><p>It’s a white mess of curly hair, specially aglow and perched among the rooftops, and there is no one else it could be. </p><p>Gon grins to himself and makes his way silently towards the building Killua is on top of. It’s a small apartment building that has weathered almost one too many storms, with paint chipping off slightly, but not enough to deter the average customer. He wonders what Killua is doing up there all alone; the only time he’s ever seen him under the moon’s view was during the evening they had met. He had seen him rather recently nine years ago, and they had both gone out for a short lunch together in Spain, which felt a little too short for his liking. Despite his nature, he hopes nothing bad or drastic has happened to the angel since then. </p><p>He doesn’t see any other way up, so he decides to have a little fun, especially if Killua is now here. With a flick of his hand, he feels his feet land quietly on the rooftop floor and he looks up to see Killua with his back towards him. The angel is looking up at the stars, hands still at his sides and back unnaturally tense. The world on his shoulders. </p><p>“I thought you didn’t like night time,” he says out loud. </p><p>Killua jumps in place, whipping his head around to face Gon, body guarded. He relaxes as he realizes who it is with him, however, shoulders dropping. “Gon! You scared me!” </p><p>Gon grins at him. He knows what he looks like right now: half-hidden by the shadows, eyes painted a murky yellow only enunciated by the darkness. His body blends better with the shade without any effort on his part, even if he were to have his wings out with him. It’s one of the only perks he enjoys as a demon, especially when he does not wish for attention. </p><p>“Hey, Killua,” he greets. Killua rolls his eyes at him, a smile growing on his face but not quite reaching his eyes. He tilts his head to the side, silently inviting Gon to stand beside him at the edge of the roof. Gon follows without any more beckoning, and from here he can see the lake that the town circles around, a rippling mirror to the sky. There will be other buildings and newer cities, but Gon knows that this, along with the beautiful hills that line the lake’s other side, shadowed by trees and bushes, will stay. They will live to see countless more skies. He will make sure of it. </p><p>“It’s warming up to me, I think,” Killua says suddenly, and Gon has to recall his previous comment, lost in his admiration for the view and nature’s favorite spots. His hands are no longer by his sides, but fiddling the cold metal of the railing. Killua smiles at Gon, warmer than the moon can muster, but now that he’s this close to him, Gon can see the weariness in it, a sadness that makes his heart drop in questions that wish to answer themselves without words. It runs with a hopelessness angels were not born to wear, a trembling that would power great earthquakes if Killua were to let it out. </p><p>Gon doesn’t know whether he wants to pull him close and never let go, or to run away and never look back. Because Killua is upset about something, but he had smiled at Gon anyway, determined to spare him some softness. </p><p>There is a battering in his heart, and it feels too terrifying to name. It should be impossible for him to even know it. </p><p>He focuses on Killua for now, resolving to think about these feelings another time, preferably when he is alone and far away from prying eyes. “What are you thinking about?” he asks. </p><p>“Nothing,” Killua replies easily. His hands grip the railing tighter, and he adds, “Everything.” </p><p>“Care to tell me?” Gon says, voice as soft as the clouds that linger overhead, only visible because the moon lets them. </p><p>“I went up there just yesterday,” Killua answers, eyes back on the stars. Gon’s about to ask where, but then he gets it. <em>Heaven</em>. Killua had gone up there, where all the other angels reside and remain. He isn’t stargazing, he’s eyeing the heavens. Gon doesn’t know whether he should be terrified because other angels usually meant bad news for someone like him, or touched because Killua is sharing this information so obviously personal that it’s enough to have him unraveled. </p><p>“What for?” Gon asks. </p><p>“Just the usual reporting. Check to see how I’m doing, all that stuff,” Killua answers, leaning on the railings with his forearms. </p><p>Gon’s eyebrows furrow. “Then what’s wrong?” </p><p>Killua just shrugs, gestures lamely with his hands. “It’s just—it feels right for me to be doing good here on Earth, right? I mean, I’m an angel. It’s my job, it’s what I’m meant to do, and I like helping people.” </p><p>Gon may have not spent a lot of time with Killua in comparison to the proximities human families and friends regulate in between, but he’s known this angel longer than he’s known anyone else. He’s seen the way Killua absolutely lights up when he is able to help someone, to miracle even just one of their problems away. It’s like a stroll on the beach, watching the waves settle between their back and forth with the sand, as constant as breathing. Killua performs miracles the way children dream. To Gon, who has only ever known how to bruise his hands with temptations and empty promises, Killua is closer to the heavens than anyone else out there. </p><p>“That’s what makes you great,” Gon says, slightly out of turn. He wants to slap his hands over his mouth in embarrassment, hoping instead he can play it cool. He’s about to apologize as Killua takes in a sharp breath, but he just lets out a small laugh, pink flush against the white of his hair. </p><p>“Thank you,” Killua says earnestly. He brings one hand to his forehead to bring back the hair on his face, then sighs again. “The thing is, when I’m up there with the other angels, something feels...off?” Killua groans, hanging his head forward, “This doesn’t make sense, I’m sorry.” </p><p>Gon shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay! I want to understand.” </p><p>Killua looks at him. “You’re really nice for a demon, you know that?” </p><p>“Well, no one said we had to be perfect, anyway,” Gon replies, trying to fight off the heat that crawls over his neck, unexpected but not unwelcome. He tears his gaze away from Killua. </p><p>Killua continues, “Okay, so you and me — we’ve spent all this time on Earth. We know how humans are. But the other angels...they don’t, not really. They don’t get why humans aren’t always good, why it's so hard for them. Nothing happens on here without people being fundamentally, well, people. Not good or bad.” </p><p>And suddenly, Gon gets it. He understands what Killua’s been worrying about all this time. “You don’t think they understand this place is worth protecting.”</p><p>There are stories of a war one day, between Heaven and Hell, and how Earth will be the price to pay. It is unknown when it will come, but both sides have been preparing for it since the dawn of time. One will triumph, and the other will not be left to survive, tendrils of an age long gone. Killua is a Principality, as he has learned from one of their spontaneous meetings, knows it by the way he commands the reality around him, so it is an unspoken rule that there will be a role he will have to fulfill when the time comes. Meanwhile, Gon doesn’t know where he’ll be when that happens, doesn’t know if he wants to be a part of it at all. He wonders if Killua feels the same, or if he will be forced to see him on the battlefield, this guise of friendship reduced to nothing. He doesn’t want that to happen. </p><p>“When it comes down to it, yeah,” Killua says, words heavy in affirmation. </p><p>The air is quiet between them, only the last of the crickets remain in their nightly song to the moon. </p><p>“You know,” Gon starts, voice soft. “I never asked to be a demon.”</p><p>Killua snaps his head towards him, taken aback by the confession, but he stays still, eyes imploring. Gon takes that as a sign to continue. “I can’t remember a time before I was one, though. I think I asked too many questions, cared too much.”</p><p>Gon steels himself, lowers himself to where Killua is, and says so quietly he knows not even the wind will be able to hear it, “I’m not supposed to, but I kind of like people. I don’t find it fun seeing them in pain and watching them hurt each other, especially when I had nothing to do with it.” He shrugs, “But it’s what I have to do.”</p><p>“Guess we both don’t fit in with our respective sides, huh?” Killua says dryly. </p><p>Gon nods. After a while, he hums, eyes turned towards the streets below them, “Maybe we can just be on our own side then.” He offers Killua a small smile, straightening himself against the railing. </p><p>“Yeah,” Killua says, the corners of his mouth finally turning upwards. It still doesn’t meet his eyes, but it looks a lot less tired than it had before. “That’d be nice.” </p><p>There is an unknown pressure in Gon’s chest, filling him with the warmth not even the moon could imitate, but carries none of the sun’s prickle either. It feels forbidden, like the infamous apple, sneaking in through the garden gate, but happening nonetheless, with none the wiser of its presence until it is through nesting, ready to take flight. What he feels is the exact opposite he had been trying to find on this midnight walk, but he does not reject it, restlessness giving way to an affection that won’t sit still. With Killua with him, under the moon, just as it was on their first meeting, Gon figures that some things do stay the same, even as the world spins on around them. </p><p>Some things stay the same, and he does not want to lose this. So if he wants to reach out and press a kiss to the inside of Killua’s wrist, he refrains. He wants to say that he is content in this longing, with the lunch meetings and the nightly talks, but he is a demon, known for spite and betrayal. Now, a traitor to himself. He wants more, but once would be enough, he thinks, to kiss him for an instance would be alright, even if he burns. But not now, maybe never, because he does not dare name this feeling, too much of a secret to ever reveal itself even to him. </p><p>“Our own side,” Gon repeats to himself. He prays to no one that Killua hears him one day. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dundee, Scotland</em>
</p><p>
  <em>1881</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Is there anything else we can do around here?” Killua asks him, once they’ve stepped out of the restaurant, stomachs full. Well, Killua had eaten as many sweets as he could, while Gon had tried to stop him before he could be the first angel to ever get a cavity. It hadn’t been a successful endeavor, especially when Killua had knocked over a glass of water, causing Gon to laugh harder than he has in a while. </p><p>“The new theater hall is somewhere around here,” Gon answers. There are hundreds of people milling about in the park today, families who could afford it dressed to the nines as they wait for the traveling carnival to open once more for the night. It had been renting the center of this park for a few weeks now, and Gon had frequented it often each night. That’s where he had bumped into Killua the night prior, and both had scheduled a lunch together for today. If it made Gon feel a little giddy, then no one needed to know. </p><p>“But we still have a couple of hours before the orchestra performance,” Killua tells him, groaning. For all their time on Earth, neither of them had ever gone to a formal concert before, and they were determined to address that issue at once, just to be able to say that they had experienced it. Gon didn’t want to leave this country without trying everything at least once, either. He had made a quick job of his assignments when he had first arrived, and wanted to take it all in before he had to be on the move once more. </p><p>Gon surveys their surroundings, looking at all the buildings near them and trying to decide which ones would make an interesting visit. “There’s a new bookstore over there,” he points out. </p><p>“Hm, okay. You wanna go?” Killua asks. As he turns towards where Gon is pointing, his hand brushes over Gon’s, touch faint enough that it could come and go unnoticed, but will linger in Gon’s mind come morning. He tries not to think about it too hard. </p><p>“Come on!” Gon says, walking a little faster. The bookstore is right across the road, a humble lot cramped in between buildings twice as tall, but still carries an aura of importance, knowledge within overpowering. There are handwritten signs all over the large glass window, advertisements of incoming new books, splaying all the different literary genres they have available. </p><p>He’s halfway across the road already, eyes set on the building entrance, when suddenly, Killua’s tumbling into him from behind, sending him toppling over on the ground. A loud car engine roars past them, and Gon feels Killua flinch as they both try to get back up. They aren’t in the middle of the road anymore, like Gon expected. They’re right in front of the bookstore now, which doesn’t make sense, because it had been a good seven meters away only moments ago. </p><p>“Look at the road before you cross!” Killua almost shouts at him, but there’s no anger, just worry written on his face. He lends out a hand for Gon to hold onto to help him get up. Gon grabs it hesitantly, still confused. The touch stays at the back of his mind, filed away messily with the few others. </p><p>“What just happened?” he asks, dusting off his pants. Cars continue to pass along the street, giving him no clues. No one gives them a second glance, no questioning looks. “Did you…miracle us over here?” </p><p>Killua still looks at him with concern, mouth turned into a downward curve. “Yeah, I did. You would’ve gotten hit otherwise!” </p><p>Theoretically, even if he had gotten hit by a car, it would not have led to his ultimate demise. It would have gotten him inconveniently discorporated instead, which has not happened to him so far on all his time on Earth. There have been accidental mishaps, such as this one, but none so close as of late. And none without an angel right next to him, looking too worried over a demon vanishing in front of his eyes, hereditary enemies now simply a title blown away by the wind of a car roaring by. </p><p>“Ah—um,” Gon stutters, not knowing what to say. Miracles are already spared very few among humans, and he must be the first demon to have ever been under its woven reality. It leaves something fluttering in his stomach, a fizz in his bones. He brightens, gathers whatever remaining resolve he has that hadn't been shaken by the sudden car, “Well, I’m alright now. You’re here with me.” </p><p>Killua’s cheeks color, a faint watercolor of pink. “You’re so embarrassing,” he says, shaking his head. He moves past Gon to hide his face, suddenly interested in the signs and book titles hanging above the store window. “Come on. They’re open.”</p><p>Gon grins and walks over to the entrance, his smile never once slipping off of his face even as Killua opens the door open for him to pass through. </p><p>The bookstore is small, but packed to the brim with shelves and book stands. Each one is full, leaving no gaps in between, every book standing upright and where they are supposed to be, dust trails absent from a loving hand that dutifully cleans. They’re organized quite neatly, corded signs hanging above their respective shelves. Gon hadn’t known there were this many genres. As he walks past them, he tries to read all the different titles, sort through all the boring books and the colorful covers, eyes never lingering too long on each place. All the knowledge in this place, man trying to fill in the gaps with their creativity and theories, the stories they wish to tell, and it is still far from enough. </p><p>He navigates through each shelf like a maze, and it is only when he’s in the middle of reading a book that claimed to have written down all of the discovered plant species so far that he realizes that he has not seen Killua since they first walked in. He closes the book and tucks it under his arm for later, and sets on his search for a spot where shadows seem less persistent. </p><p>Gon spots Killua easily. Surprisingly, he is at the second shelf right after the entrance, book titles boasting of space and galaxies Gon had initially glossed over. There’s a book open in his hands as Killua reads, but there is a small frown on his face as he does so. It’s a bit curious since Gon remembers that when they had first met, Killua had a distaste for the night and everything that had found it home in the sky. </p><p>Killua looks up as he hears Gon approaches, and makes an exaggerated noise of distress at him before turning another page. </p><p>Gon stops himself from laughing. “What’s wrong?” he asks. </p><p>“I don’t think they got this constellation right,” Killua says, almost shoving the book into Gon’s hands as he points out a particular drawing printed on it. He recognizes it immediately — how could he not when he had made those stars? </p><p>The familiar ache in his hands is back, the ghost of a creation long ago as his heart twinges in mourning. He had made those stars, once, had hung them with all the brightness he could muster along with hundreds of others. It simply exists within him as a dream now, one that had slipped through his fingers like wind, as he could do nothing but let go as it was torn away from his hands. But he had resolved not to dwell on the bitterness anymore, content to watch them relive the sky every night. Humans had dubbed it <em>Orion</em>, supposedly a great hunter who had been cursed by Greek gods, but Gon doesn’t really see it. Nevertheless, he’s happy that it gets acknowledgement. </p><p>“Yeah, they didn’t,” is all he says instead. He can feel a small smile had etched itself into his face without noticing, but Killua still looks at him with a frown once he looks up. “Why is it bothering you so much?” </p><p>“I like this constellation,” Killua almost pouts. Not for the first time, Gon wonders if Killua has helped build some stars the way he had, if he had the same connection to them from weaving light into existence through patterns and dreams. </p><p>“It’s not like humans haven’t made mistakes before,” Gon points out. </p><p>“But it’s one of my favorites,” Killua tells him. </p><p>“Oh,” Gon says. Well. He doesn’t know what to make of that — to have Killua favor something he had made once, even if it had been long ago and lost to time. He had made those stars, and there is an angel who looks at them fondly. Gon had spun them out of his own breath, and Killua loved them enough to be upset over a printing mistake. He doesn’t know how to put that feeling into words, so he barrels on and says, “Why haven't you just corrected it yet? Use those miracles of yours?”</p><p>He doesn’t mention the accident just before this, where Killua had performed a miracle without a moment’s hesitation. </p><p>“I guess I could,” Killua says, voice forlorn. “But it wouldn’t be the same.” </p><p>“That’s silly, Killua,” Gon says. He doesn’t wait for a refute and takes the book fully from Killua’s hands, making sure not to drop the one he had carried with him from earlier, and waves a hand over its page. He watches the ink rearrange itself, dots connecting as a mirror to the night sky.  The edition of the book is fairly new, and he silently makes sure that all the other copies have undergone the same corrections and adjustments. </p><p>Killua stares at him, eyes wide and questioning. “How did you know what was right?” </p><p>Gon shrugs, handing the book back to him. Of course he had known what was wrong, had spotted the discrepancy with the ease of only the most practiced astrologists. Even if he doesn’t remember a time when he was an angel, he knows the stars. They twinkle as his oldest friend, lightyears away but present every time he looks down at his hands. “I’ve studied them a bit.” </p><p>There is a dawning expression on the angel’s face, eyes as bright as an ocean during daybreak, a clearest blue. A conclusion that could have only been made by the one who’s known him longest and best. “You made the constellations,” he breathes out, softly. </p><p>Gon looks away, watches cars pass by through the wide bookstore window. He brings up a hand to the back of his neck. “Yeah, I did,” he says. </p><p>Suddenly, a loud <em>thwack!</em> echoes throughout the store, accompanied by a sharp pain on Gon’s right arm. Killua had hit him hard with the very same book he had dawned over previously. </p><p>“What was that for?” Gon asks, incredulous. </p><p>Killua hits him again, once, twice, until Gon has to wrench the book from his hands. “That’s so cool, Gon! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He starts hitting him with his hand instead. “How long have we known each other?” Another hit. “Almost six thousand years!” Another. “And you didn’t bother mentioning that to me? Not even once?” </p><p>“Ow, ow, I’m sorry, Killua!” Gon says, trying to catch Killua’s arms so that the angel stops hitting him. His skin is warm against his own, and Gon would usually stop and focus on that, the single contact the only thing he would think about for a whole week, but other things currently preoccupy his mind. “And here I thought you were a nice angel,” he mutters. </p><p>“Oh, I think my reaction is warranted,” Killua tells him, rolling his eyes. But he finally gives up, arms now folding across his chest. </p><p>A car drives past them outside, engine faint and smooth. “It’s the only thing I remember,” he says, voice soft. </p><p>“From when you were a…” Killua trails off, realization tipping off of his tongue. </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Oh,” Killua says. When Gon turns his head to look at him, there is no pity on his face unlike what he expected. Killua does not apologize, does not look at him shamefully. Gon’s thankful, because there isn’t anything Killua could have done or said, and there isn’t anything he should be guilty of. Gon is a demon now, but he had once hung the stars, and that is all there is to it. </p><p>“How’d you figure it out?” Gon asks. There are other books on the shelves next to him, so he eyes them slowly. It's a wild assortment of space and astrology books, some clearly based on science while others focusing on the mythological sides of the world, horoscopes and star signs blending into one. </p><p>Killua shrugs. “Ever since we met, you’ve looked at the stars differently. Like they’re talking to you, instead of the other way around.” </p><p>Gon doesn’t know what to say, so he stays silent, lets the occasional turning of pages by other customers be the only sound between them. Killua continues to skim through the book in his hand, and once he seems content, no more mistakes or corrections to be spotted, he snaps it shut and cradles it gently in his hands. Gon turns to look at him at the sound, and he sees Killua spot the book tucked under Gon’s arm. </p><p>“You want to buy something?” Killua asks, obviously curious. </p><p>“Oh, yeah!” Gon says, showing the cover to Killua. <em>A Beginner’s Guide to Plants: How to grow your own garden, </em>it reads, gold lettering emblazoned on the cover, looping all towards the center with the drawing of a singular flower Gon has yet to learn the name of. </p><p>Killua slightly lifts his eyebrow and looks back up at Gon, but he makes no comment. He hands the book back to Gon and gestures for them to finally head over to the counter, tilting his head with a small smile on his face. </p><p>“You’re buying the book?” Gon asks him, noticing that Killua never placed the astronomy book back onto its respective shelf, now held firmly in the angel’s hands, pristine and closed, half of a constellation visible from where Killua’s hand doesn’t block the cover. “Even if it had a mistake in it?” </p><p>“Well, it’s fixed now, isn’t it?” Killua tells him, looking back at him. They line up at the counter where a few other customers lay in wait in front of them for their turn. “And besides,” he says, biting his lip, “it’s kinda special now. Can’t say all books had the touch of a demon, can we?” </p><p>Gon lets out a small laugh, tries not to look away. “No, we can’t.”</p><p>They make it to the front of the line eventually, but not without Killua smacking Gon in the shoulder with the book again because <em>I told you I can pay for it myself! </em>They don’t notice that the cashier is watching them with amusement, wrinkles delicately lining the corners of her eyes, from where she stands behind the counter, surrounded by stacks of books that were yet to be organized and placed properly on the right shelves. </p><p>“Aren’t you two cute,” she tells them, cutting into their bickering. Killua drops his hands in surprise, books clattering to the floor. Gon hurries to pick them up before she can chide them. “Reminds me of my Mary and I when we were a lot younger. We used to be so close,” she sighs, and there is a longing there that Gon is familiar with. It feels like a wound through the skin, a sword’s gap in a chest, aching and uncomfortable and empty. </p><p>“I’m sure if you reached out, she’d still accept you warmly,” Killua speaks up from beside him, voice calm and no longer flustered. </p><p>“But we haven’t spoken in so long,” she replies sadly. She takes their books from them, writing down the cost and their titles before packing them in a small paper bag. </p><p>“I don’t think time would matter, especially if you two were as close as you say you were,” Gon tells her adamantly. As he does so, he silently slides her a few bills of money, and Gon is too late to stop him. Killua gives him a glare, but Gon just smiles cheekily back at him. </p><p>The old woman looks at the both of them for a moment. Finally, she relents, “Perhaps I can go send her a letter.” </p><p>“You won’t regret it,” Killua says, smiling warmly at her. Somehow, Gon gets the feeling that Killua will be intervening when the time comes, just to make sure that Mary picks up the phone without any more hesitance than the bookkeep has shown them. </p><p>They bid her a quick goodbye, and they exit the store without any more qualms. Gon holds the paper bag in his hands, pulled down by the weight of two new and factually correct books. They walk along the sidewalk now, and it seems like there are even more people out and about now, couples and families spending an afternoon together under the kind glow of the sun. Everywhere there is a sound of joy or a bicycle just riding by, and demons really ought to be irked by such a beautiful picture, this display of warmth and love all around him, but Gon isn’t. He doesn’t think about why. </p><p>“What do you want to do now?” Killua asks him as they near the entrance of the park once more. </p><p>“I don’t know,” he answers, but then he hears a familiar bell tune, carried by the wind from not too far. Killua visibly lights up beside him, and Gon already knows his answer when he says, “Ice cream?” </p><p>Killua nods at him enthusiastically and turns around, speeding up in excitement. Gon thinks about the bookkeep and her Mary, and the distance that time had stolen from them. It must be awfully tragic, to sit in silence and waiting, to be unsure whether you have truly lost everything from too many days spent apart. For humans to have such a short time on Earth, simply a preview to what Gon has experienced so far, a day must mean more than words could say to them. To Gon, who has had Killua to accompany him over the centuries, constantly picking up right where they had left off even if it had been a few decades since their last lunch, world travel and duty as a guard against them, time has not come to matter. He hopes that it never does, unable to think about what would happen if his conversations with Killua were ever to become stunted and still, gaps in cured concrete no longer able to be filled. </p><p>
  <em>Wherever you go, I will come to you. Time does not matter, not when I do not care for any minute where I have not known you. </em>
</p><p>Gon wonders, as he watches Killua make his way across the road, where is it that unspoken words go. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Barcelona, Spain</em>
</p><p>
  <em>1967</em>
</p><p> </p><p>As it turns out, he does not need to wonder long. </p><p>Gon can feel sunlight filtering in through the room slowly, the sun’s ascent sure and steady as the clouds make space for the brightest star they have to offer for the day. Light bounces around through the room and reflects off of the glass, fractures brave in their venture towards the shadows. It is calm and it is quiet, a peace Gon had not known before he had gone to sleep. There are birds chirping outside the window, a soft melody that sings a little off tune, and he feels the gentle breeze join the warmth as it enters his window. </p><p>He counts his breathes but does not open his eyes just yet, thoughts still muddled and disoriented. There is the rise and fall of the sun above him, and his chest follows the same pattern with the count of his breaths. They come soft and almost unheard, sheets around him moving accordingly. Down below on the street, he can hear the faint chattering of the world beginning its wake along with him. It is time. </p><p>After a few moments, Gon finally opens his eyes for the first time in twenty-two years. </p><p>Two decades should mean nothing to him, but it does anyway. He has never slept this long, but hurt and misplaced exhaustion had come first before anything else when he had reunited with his pillow on that cold September night all those years ago. Two decades have passed, and there is a different building that sits directly outside his window, a bright blue apartment complex instead of a faded orange tea shop. This is only the first of many things he notices that have fallen victim to time. If his brain weren’t so slow to catch up, he’d have known that he has changed along with it. Nothing on Earth is still, after all. </p><p>Gon slowly gets up from bed, but his muscles do not complain from disuse as a human’s would have. But he is still disoriented and sleepy more than anything else, so he understands it when they say that sometimes, getting up is the hardest part of the day. </p><p>He makes his way to the window, eyebrows furrowing in confusion because if he remembers correctly, he had left the curtains drawn. They are open now, however, dancing along to the wind’s soft chime, air waltzing in and smelling like a fresh batch of baked bread. The sun eagerly awaits those already outside. There are no more bombs overhead, wailing sirens in the distance wherever he looked, and there are no more crying children. There is no more war and Gon breathes it in. </p><p>As soon as the twentieth century had begun, Gon had enough sense to feel the dread that had begun to shroud all around him. He had been brought to the heart of Europe many times over, countries like Germany and Russia the destinations desired by war and death. Being a demon, it was his job to make sure that these cold personalities had remained present all throughout the world, temptations of conflict and scandals just another item crossed off of his list sent to him. It had been the first time he had seen other demons on Earth too, giddy and delighted at the prospect of having so much to do, places to be, people to hurt. They flew all around like flies unable to be swatted, landing on someone’s shoulder only to have them drop dead the next day. </p><p>Two world wars. Bombs dropped on the street like they were the daily newspaper, thousands killed in a cost too high to pay. And Gon <em>hated</em> it. </p><p>Even if it had brought him all over the world in a way he had never done before, it was not the sightseeing he had grown used to. It was cruel and tiresome, asinine power plays with twelve steps he didn’t know about until it was too late. It was absolutely terrible, and everywhere he went, death followed soon after. There was a fire in some people’s eyes, rage as a flint for a spark. Others were not as lucky, hope snuffing out as soon as the sound of a gun being cocked showed itself around the corner. There was nothing Gon wanted more to do during those several years than get away from all of it. </p><p>He didn’t even know where Killua was the whole time. </p><p>That would be a lie, in truth. He had seen the angel once, all the way across the battlefield on the other side, no man’s land stretching far between them. He was crouched low, a hat hastily placed on top of his hair, but silver could be seen peeking out, even from miles away. It was unmistakable. Killua had been murmuring healing miracles to any injured soldier that had come across his way, praying to the heavens that they would make it, at least to see the next morning, have one more sunrise to witness. Gon wanted to call out his name, really, he did. But when Killua had turned around, there had been a desperation in his eyes that had sent him still, distraught and struggling. </p><p>Gon didn’t dare approach him then, shame ruminating in his throat, ugly and terrified. If Killua were to see him, amidst all the chaos that he had helped brew, he was terrified that that might have been the end of whatever friendship they had shared — centuries gone, a clock that had finally run out of time. So Gon did what he could always do best and blended into the shadows, made himself scarce among the darkness. In the destruction, it was easy. </p><p>When the surrender was finally declared, Gon found a list of countries that did not necessarily choose a side in the war, read the first name, and headed there in a second without looking back. He did not want to see what he had left behind. It was in a humble countryside town that he found a small house that was, by a bit of special interference, available for sale. As soon as it was Gon’s, he had passed out on the bed and has remained there ever since. Well, until now. </p><p>Gon sighs and stretches out the daze from his limbs, turning away from his window. His room is empty for the most part, but there isn’t any dust settling on any of the table tops or mirror surfaces, which is a little bit curious, if not unsettling. He didn’t enchant the place to remain spotless while he slept; he hadn’t thought that far ahead. But there is no dust floating in the air, none to be found clogging the mirror’s reflection. He runs a hand through his hair as his eyes sweep the room, and his eyes widen at the feeling. </p><p>His hair. </p><p>It’s shorter. Not by a lot, barely an inch off, but Gon has lived for thousands of years with almost the same hairstyle through it all. He would always get the same haircut every time, the only thing about this form that he chose that was susceptible to time. Gon’s hair grew as it did for anyone else, but he had slept for twenty-two years, and yet it was still the same, cut at the edges just the way he likes it, save for its slight haphazardness, as if it was done by an untrained hand that had done its best. </p><p>He threads his hand through it again and again, but the answer is always the same. Gon doesn’t have an explanation for this except one, and it sends his heart hammering and flighty, so he tries not to hope. </p><p>But as soon as he thinks about it, like a sled that’s pushed off a slippery slope, his mind is already reeling, thinking of countless moments he had missed within this very room and settling on one angel he’s known for as long as the world has spun. </p><p>There is a plant on his bedside table. He has no idea where it had come from, the room was empty when he bought it. A small brown pot houses a flower in the making, a life that is yet to bloom, petals peeking out from the center. Gon doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it earlier, too caught up on new neighboring buildings and too short hair. A note sits next to it right at the base, careful words written by nimble fingers, and even though Gon does not recognize the handwriting, he knows who it’s from. He had known it ever since the dust had failed to settle. </p><p>
  <em>It’s about time you woke up, don’t you think? The stars miss you. </em>
</p><p>Killua. </p><p>It feels like that fateful night in the garden all over again, a pressure in his chest he's terrified of naming, the rising of the moon as it seeks the sun. Killua, who he had walked away from during the war in shame, had known he was here, had cleaned the room while he was sleeping, and had trimmed his hair before it could get too long. There is a tenderness he is being introduced to, a fragility that bears itself open to him as he feels the ghost of fingers along his hair, the opening of curtains echoing on one morning. Killua was here, and Gon had missed him. </p><p>Like a rain that comes with no warning, Gon realizes that there is no more walking away from this. Unspoken words does not mean undelivered. They are often visits to a countryside, the faint snipping of scissors, a mirror kept clear. It is a matter of knowing, of caring — matters of the heart that have progressed far past any concept of time. </p><p>The war has not left his mind, scars that are not his still cling to his bones, but it will be okay. Right now, he needs to go see Killua. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Under the stars (location to be revealed)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>1968</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Finding Killua was harder than he initially thought. It had taken him more than a month, and by then, it was already well into the next year, streamers and fireworks lighting up the night sky for weeks on end in celebration. Turns out, there was a lot he had missed during the time he had spent asleep, new inventions popping up every year as creativity spun out of control. Gon had been to several of the neighboring countries already, but the angel was nowhere to be seen. He’s starting to think this whole endeavor as hopeless and should just wait for Killua to show up instead. </p><p>Gon doesn’t waste any time, though, and every moment he spends looking for the angel he is also thinking about how he will thank him without his words tripping over themselves. He’ll have to show him, somehow. Maybe take him somewhere Killua will definitely hear him. </p><p>He spots him one evening in Italy eventually, through the clear window of a restaurant. Even after all the years, he’s unmistakable. Killua’s eating something that looks chocolate-based, and Gon doesn’t even hesitate before opening the restaurant door. As soon as Killua looks up and sees Gon, there is a warm smile that grows on his face and he waves heartedly. </p><p>“You’re awake!” he exclaims, looking happier than Gon’s seen him in a century. They hadn’t really seen each other for half of one, but Killua absolutely beams at him. </p><p>Gon nods and doesn’t even try to force his smile to stop widening. Killua’s joy is bubbly and contagious, free like a songbird finally out of its cage. He takes the seat in front of Killua and hopes he does not stutter as he says, “Ah, Killua, I wanted to thank you.” </p><p>(This isn’t what a demon does, greet the new year by doing something nice, and a part of him feels like he’s coming up short. He doesn’t listen to it.)</p><p>“For what?” Killua asks, feigning ignorance. Gon would have been fooled, but he notices that Killua’s smile drops ever so slightly and he has not let go of his spoon, fumbling with it as he tries not to meet Gon’s eyes. </p><p>“For taking care of me,” Gon says. On his way here, he had thought of so many things to tell Killua, to ask him why he had done it, how had he known where exactly Gon was, but none of that matters right now that he's in front of Killua, eyes the same brilliant blue that renders him speechless like it’s the very first time. Later, he will tell them these things, word out the affection so easily strangled by his nature, and Killua will hear him, just as he always has. </p><p>“Idiot, that was nothing,” Killua says, ducking his head and playing with his food. There is a blush that creeps up from behind his neck, spreading all the way to his ears, a pink tint that shares Killua’s embarrassment with the world. “Besides,” he mumbles, “you would’ve done the same for me too.” </p><p>“Still!” Gon says, persistent. “I don’t know how you even found me!” </p><p>Killua waves his hand lazily. “It’s no big deal.” He finally meets Gon’s eyes as he says, “You sure you’re alright now, though?” </p><p>“Why wouldn’t I be?” Gon asks. “The war is long over now.” </p><p>He hadn’t been lying; the tiredness in his bones has finally lifted, no longer drowned out by dread and grief by humans who would hurt each other even without any demon’s work. There are no more bombs that line the streets and rain down buildings, smoke shrouding entire cities, replaced now by enthusiastic celebrations and laughter-filled towns. No more gunfights in each alleyway, crowds of innocents struggling to get away from a home that burned all too suddenly. It's a different decade, a different chapter that Gon skipped to. But he knows what Killua is really asking, and it is whether he still sees the demons lurking in the shadows, whether he sees bombs instead of the sun when he closes his eyes. A war will pass, but its heart stays, lying in wait.  </p><p>So he adds more truthfully, “I feel a lot better.” </p><p>Killua leans back looking relieved, shoulders no longer tense. “That’s good. Wouldn’t want a demon who couldn’t keep up with the only angel around, would we? That’d be quite bad for business.” </p><p>Gon laughs, “No wiles to thwart, where would you be then?” Everything feels new around him, but it seems that being around Killua hadn’t changed at all. It shouldn’t be, but it’s as easy as breathing. </p><p>“Killua,” he starts. It's his turn to be nervous now, and he drops his eyes, choosing to focus instead on Killua’s hands on the table. He thinks about how they had cut his hair more than once, careful and determined to get it right. He wonders how that would’ve felt if he had been awake, if he’ll ever be granted that sensation once more. </p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>“Would you mind...coming with me somewhere?” Gon asks, a little hesitant but his mind is already set. </p><p>Killua looks confused. “If you want to eat, we could order something for you here. I heard they have really good pasta, which should be a given if you think about it, but—”</p><p>“No, not like that,” Gon cuts in. He wants to repay Killua for the care he had shown him, but this really isn’t his forte. His face feels a lot warmer now, cheeks hot as he tries to find the right words. This feels like he’s about to breach something by doing this, so he closes his eyes and freefalls. Maybe Killua will meet him halfway. “I want to show you something. You know, to thank you.” </p><p>“You don’t have to,” Killua says, voice softening. “I wanted to.” </p><p>“And I want to do this. For you,” Gon says. He expects the embarrassment and mortification to increase tenfold, but it doesn’t, save for the way his face feels hot, because he finds that he means it. A hand reaching out, a gift to be received. </p><p>“Oh,” Killua just says, a small smile forming on his face. “Alright.” </p><p>“We can go after you finish,” Gon tells him patiently. Killua simply nods, eyes shining in new excitement as he completes his meal. </p><p>After a while, once Killua finished paying for the food and left a generous tip, Gon leads Killua outside of the restaurant. It’s getting darker now, streetlights lining up the street beginning their nightly routine. The sun is barely visible now, bidding the last of its goodbye. </p><p>“So where are we going?” Killua asks him. </p><p>“It’s a surprise,” Gon answers. The nerves pile up to his fingertips and he refuses the temptation to shake them away. “Just get ready.” </p><p>“Ready for what?” But Gon doesn’t have time to answer, set on focusing on a specific place in particular, where the night sky is at its kindest and the stars blaze a bit brighter, where the cold nips at his nose persistently and the mountains have never given up their sovereign. </p><p>And with a wave of his hand, they are no longer in front of a restaurant on a street about to sleep. </p><p>Instead, an aurora sweeps through the sky, vivid greens and reds against the cloud’s violets, a light that seeks its purpose on attention, making itself a permanent fixture on postcards for years to come. For once, the stars take a backseat on the sky’s stage, but they are still not to be completely undone as they bring their own light, their own hope in open hands. The moon has no role to play tonight; there are no tides for it to command. Gon and Killua stand right at the edges of a lake, one that acts more as the heavens’ mirror than anything else, a twin to the view that sits on their shoulders. </p><p>“Gon,” Killua breathes out in front of him, eyes never leaving the sky, but this time, unlike their night together in France, the heavens are no longer the center of his attention. The stars are unrelenting, demanding to be looked at — the aurora, most of all. “Where are we?” </p><p>“Alaska,” Gon quips casually. He had been here only once, sometime during the seventeenth century. It’s as beautiful as it was back then, magnificent lights in its high-rise towards the stars. The Aurora Borealis, as it was named soon after his visit, is every bit as proud as it has been for centuries. Mountains revere it, the lake reflects it. This place quickly became a common tourist spot, but for tonight, with a little bit of strings pulled quite magically — not that he’d ever disclose that with Killua — it was empty. </p><p>“Why did you bring me here?” Killua asks, still breathless. “And don’t say this is just to thank me because I think this is way better than me playing hairdresser.” </p><p>Gon shrugs, grinning. “Can’t I just do something nice for you?” </p><p>Killua briefly gives him a flat look, as if saying <em>you’re a demon, aren't you?</em> but there is no bite in it, especially not when the angel can’t even glare at him long enough before being called by the stars once more. </p><p>“I remember you buying that astronomy book before, figured you’d like it,” Gon explains, bringing his eyes towards the stars, his oldest friend. “They said this was the best time to see them, so why not right?” </p><p>In truth, aside from the desire to give something back to Killua, a small part of him also wanted to prove that even as a demon, his hands could still do something beautiful, that they were worth more than the destruction he’d often have to create. Proof that something good could still come out of the fire. </p><p>“Oh,” is all Killua says. </p><p>Gon doesn’t know what that means, emotions layered and struggling to make themselves understandable to a demon. He turns his head and looks at Killua, who no longer had his eyes cast upwards, but looking straight at Gon, eyes displaying a dawn even farther than the clouds. Suddenly, fear washes up in his chest, insecurity even harsher than the wind on his skin. “Do you...not like it?” he asks, and he hates how small his voice sounds. </p><p>“No, no! I love it, Gon!” Killua reassures him. He reaches out and takes Gon’s hands in his own, slowly, tentatively and touch light. His hands are warm and the feeling lingers all over Gon’s arms, comforting and new but familiar at the same time, and Gon stays very still, scared that if he makes any movement, Killua will pull away, recognize this as a mistake. Killua squeezes their hands together as he adds softly, “I don’t know how you would think otherwise.”  </p><p>“Oh, that’s—that’s good,” Gon stammers out, all too focused on the heat radiating from Killua’s fingers interlocked with his own. He lets out a laugh, relief flooding in even faster than the panic that had settled in, smoothing over with every heartbeat and every gentle tug of Killua’s hand. </p><p>They continue watching the sky, the aurora never relenting its hold over the night. It would make a sort of funny sight, Gon thinks — an angel and a demon standing next to each other, as if nothing bad had ever happened between their kinds, two beings who had found comfort under the constellations instead. Killua never lets go of his hand. There are all different kinds of colors in the sky now, even more orange than there is deep green, and they balance each other out as the lights snake through the horizon. It’s comforting, a fulfillment Gon only feels when he is with the stars, and he remembers why this place had stayed stuck in his mind even centuries later. </p><p>The sky is no longer his, has not been for thousands of years, but he finds that it’s okay. Especially when Killua is right next to him, looking up at them with the most wonder and amazement an angel could ever hold. With the backdrop of starlit mountains and a lake that shimmers in delight, Gon resigns his previous wonder for the stars, because they could never have competed with the view of Killua glowing in the starlight. </p><p>Killua looks beautiful like this, brilliant as the blue above them, an incandescence that has proven itself immortal. Light incarnate, hope’s tremble turned steady. There is a burning in Killua’s eyes, in Gon’s heart, in his lungs, in the stars above them. But this is no hellfire, this is not a bomb that blazes through the earth, a comet meant to destroy. It's a feeling that won’t sit still, a flame that has never been extinguished. Gon isn’t sure of it ever will. </p><p>He gives Killua a glance and his breath catches, and it’s so reminiscent of the first time when he had seen Killua take care of a bird and had watched it fly off into the distance. The world keeps spinning, but some things never change, after all. Gon thinks, just as he had for every encounter with the angel, <em>I wish you’d let me tell you more, not just through the stars. I wish there weren’t a wall. </em></p><p>Much later on, once the stars have printed themselves to the back of their eyelids, Killua will squeeze his hand once more and turn to meet Gon’s eyes. “Thank you for this. It’s nice to see the stars sometimes. You kind of forget that they can look like this, without the light pollution and all.” </p><p>Gon understands, nodding. There is a magic the stars can hold, if one would just sit down and listen. This had been as refreshing for him as it was for Killua in the end; he hadn’t realized how much he had missed out during the years he was asleep. It almost feels like coming back home, that even if he was now on Earth, the stars will always come out and they are here to stay. They are still with him, such as the mountains, such as Killua. It’s a long way from when he couldn’t tell whether the sky was lit with bombs falling down or if they had been graced with quiet stars. The moon glows faintly, a sign that the aurora is soon to expire for the night; it will be the sun’s turn soon enough. </p><p>“You know,” he hears Killua say with a sly smile on his face, “someone once told me that the night holds a little hope.” </p><p>Gon’s already smiling before Killua could even finish his sentence, heart fluttering and about to burst at the fact Killua treasures their first meeting enough to remember the words that had been said under a blanket of darkness. “Yeah?” </p><p>Killua meets his eyes, soft and full. “I’m beginning to think they had a point, after all.” </p><p><em>Even if it’s dark out, that’s why the stars are there. To guide us wherever we need to be. </em>The stars twinkle at them, gentle and knowing. They had done their job for the night. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Books to the Heavens (exact location undisclosed due to request of the bookkeep, who strangely does not wish for customers) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>1970</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, watch where you’re going!” A man shouts angrily at a group of three kids who had biked incredibly fast and had almost ran into him. He is wearing a suit that speaks of inexperience yet hints at guided effort, a little too large for his lanky frame. His glasses have turned askew at the near-accident, and he brings up a hand to right them. One of the kids continues laughing, another curiously wears a martial arts uniform, while the last kid trails behind with the decency to look sympathetic, hair beads clicking with every step. </p><p>Gon does not linger too long since he is already running late, zipping through the crowd as fast as he can without causing the same trouble as the children have. Cars pass by, businessmen talk too loudly on their phones, and babies coo from their strollers, but Gon doesn’t pay them any more attention. The box of chocolates almost slips from his hand more than once, and he hopes that they do not melt under the summer sun just yet. They would no longer make a good gift if they did. </p><p>The only thing that garners his attention for longer than three seconds is the flower shop he passes by. It’s newly decorated with green and silver, irises and hydrangeas cutting through the entrance. The store isn’t quite filled yet inside, shelves empty and moving boxes on the floor. Horrifically, as he wills himself to keep walking, it reminds him of two things: the reason why he is late in the first place, and where exactly he needs to be as of this moment. </p><p>Somewhere along the line, he had settled down and found a cozy cottage that strayed along the heart of town, but was quiet enough for him to rise peacefully with the sun every day. With a permanent fixture, a home of his own to make, Gon had begun to grow his own garden. It’s not a lot right now, a humble front yard with weeds that are persistent to stay and only a handful of flowers that have bloomed, but Gon takes it slow and steady, and tries to remain patient. He’s found that he’s proud of the garden so far, even if one of his bushes has a tendency of growing too fast and he has to trim it down more often than he does for the others. It’s honest work, and he can finally put all the botanical books he’s purchased over the years to good use. He finds comfort in the routine, in the excitement for a flower that relishes in blossoming. And if it keeps him less lonely — he read an article that talking to plants gave them more incentive to grow, so <em>no</em>, he is not going soft, it is perfectly logical — and watching them grow gives him a certain fulfillment that chaos can never give as Hell’s secret anomaly, then the other demons don’t need to know. </p><p>He’s yet to tell Killua, though. It feels too personal, like a silent growth of his own. </p><p>Gon had been so caught up taking care of his plants this morning, a little overenthusiastic since many petals had started to color, that he had almost forgotten his prior plans to greet Killua congratulations on his new bookshop. He promised, more to himself than to Killua, that he would be there first thing in the morning to help him open up shop. That’s where he’s headed right now, attempting not to trip over other people as he made his way through the blocks. </p><p>When he finally makes it there, his heart feels like it’s about to burst. It’s a small building of only one story, but takes up its own corner lot, a pristine white among its neighbors mellowed tones. There are two wide windows, with signs hanging around with advertisements plastered on, similar to every bookshop Gon has been to. A <em>closed</em> sign is stuck perpetually on the main entrance, despite the store’s new foundations. At the top center reads <em>Books to the Heavens (est. 1970)</em>, painted a diamond blue with gold carefully and meticulously lined for each curve and loop. Gon grins at the name, remembering the time Killua had first relayed the name to him. </p><p>(“Don’t you think it’s too, I don’t know, corny?” Killua had asked him. </p><p>“Very punny, I like it,” Gon responded.</p><p>“You are the absolute worst.” </p><p>Gon laughs, full and earnest. “Just doing my job, Killua.”) </p><p>The real reason for the name is inextricably related to why Killua had opened a bookstore, of all things, in the first place. The announcement had come to both of them a few months ago, that Heaven and Hell had finally come to agree on one thing, and it was that Gon and Killua ought to settle down somewhere as a means of keeping up appearances. The other angels were the ones who imposed the idea of having an occupation (while Gon hadn’t received more than the first instruction), and Killua couldn’t really say no. A bookshop was placed on this street not a day later, as it was only proper for angels to cherish knowledge and wisdom, worship books as almost one of their own. Gon knows that if it were really up to Killua, a sweet shop wouldn't be too far off the list instead.</p><p>He’s opening the door and ready to walk inside when he hears a cold voice, and the greeting dies on his lips, stuck in his throat. </p><p>“You’ve done quite a job here, Kil.” </p><p>Gon doesn’t stay around to find out who else is in the room, doesn’t give a second glance to the man whose hair flows down inky like the darkest night, and forces himself to move, closing the door as quietly as he can. He can enter through the backdoor instead; Killua had slyly told him there would be one if he ever wanted to come down and visit, so that he would not alert any passers by that the bookshop was actually open for business. Gon’s blood still runs cold as he tries not to let the unfounded fear shake him. If he were to be seen, it would be his undoing. He charges in anyway. </p><p>Just like the angel had told him, there is a backdoor. Gon slips in silently, allowing the shadows to act as his cover in the poor lighting of the room. He can see the back of the counter now, where Killua undoubtedly stands. And in front of him, an angel Gon had only seen once before but has heard stories of — how could he have not? — is Illumi. One of the highest ranking angels in Heaven. </p><p>He looks the same as he had before, unchanging and movements measured, voice as smooth as an eagle’s soar. Illumi is wearing time-appropriate clothes at least, but it does not suit him the way it does for Killua. Gon keeps himself hidden, but more for Killua’s sake than his own. If Illumi ever found out that Gon had been invited, it would be the end for both of them, but Killua would be punished for fraternizing with the enemy — a treachery of the greatest kind. </p><p>“We must applaud such devotion to duty. I’m sure everyone worth noting is congratulating you from above as we speak,” Illumi says.  </p><p>“It’s really the least I could do,” he hears Killua reply. But he doesn’t sound the way he normally does, like a hurried spring that’s stretched thin instead of a casual stroll in the park. “You know how humans are.” </p><p>“Frankly, I can’t imagine how anyone could stay here five minutes longer than they need to.” Illumi says, wrinkling his nose in blatant disgust. Gon holds the box of chocolates tightly to his chest, teeth clenching at the subtle insult. He remembers the night in France now, how Killua had told him that the other angels don’t understand. Angels and demons had a lot more in common than they thought, after all. </p><p>Killua coughs. “It’s really not that difficult once you get used to it.” </p><p>Illumi turns around, eyeing the room. His face betrays no emotion as he comments, “You’ve been doing a good job of thwarting the wiles of that demon. What was his name again?” He pauses. “Doesn’t matter.”</p><p>Gon tenses at the mention, knuckles turning white as they grip the wood of the shelf that hides him. Had Illumi sensed that he was here somehow? </p><p>Killua shrugs, and while Gon can’t see his face, he knows the angel is doing a remarkable job of keeping his cool. Gon can’t say the same, his nerves feel like they’re flying everywhere. He shouldn’t even be here, but he gets the feeling it’s important. “Gon’s been down here for as long as I have.”</p><p>“Yes, indeed he has. Such a shame we are forced to coexist like this,” Illumi hums. He slides his finger on the table and frowns slightly at the faint trail of dust that collects on its tip. </p><p>“Well, he’s really cunning,” Killua says, and he sounds a little bit defiant. Gon doesn’t know whether his heart swells at the idea of Killua defending him or if he wants Killua to stop, all in fear of him landing in a bad spot in Illumi’s eyes. Killua continues, “He’s terribly crafty, stubborn, and devious. Not to mention brilliant—”</p><p>Illumi raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. “It almost sounds as if you like him.”</p><p>Gon sucks in a breath, wills himself not to breathe. Miraculously, in a way only he could have done, Killua picks right back up as if he had never slipped, “No, of course not. I just respect a worthy opponent.” </p><p>“He’s a <em>demon</em>,” Illumi says, cold and sharp, and that is all the argument he needs. “You ought to be careful with your words, Killua. The higher ups may not always be this lenient with whatever you do down here.” </p><p>Killua stays silent, the roar of a car outside taking his place in the conversation. Gon’s mind races through each and every one of their encounters, faded polaroids in the back of his mind, and wonders if they had been caught along the way, if they had finally toed the line between all the European lunches and spontaneous stargazing. They had been spending more time together ever since the trip to Alaska, an unspoken spell in fear of being broken if one of them dares to mention it out loud, turn fragility into words, and Gon wonders if they had gotten careless along the way. </p><p>Gon’s beginning to think he should slip away, who knows how long Illumi plans to stay on Earth, but then Killua speaks up again, and it’s timid. Gon doesn’t want to ever hear his voice quiver like that again. “Are you going to be here long?” </p><p>Illumi turns away in answer, heading back towards the main entrance. Before he opens the door to leave, he says, “I will be back in a few decades to check up on you again.” He waits for no reply, and as if he was never there, vanishes before their eyes with a quiet snap. </p><p>Killua exhales shakily, shoulders dragging down with clear effort. He goes to organize the books on the table, placing them on a small book cart, and Gon can see his hands hold the slightest tremble. </p><p>Gon’s about to step out and announce his presence when Killua says, “You can come out now, Gon. He’s gone.” </p><p>“How did you know I was here?” Gon asks, footsteps light and hesitant as he moves to stand in front of Killua. Now that he can see the angel’s face, it’s paler than it normally would be, eyes blown wide with worry and mouth pressed tight. But it’s masked lightly — the sign of Killua putting on a brave face. </p><p>“Don’t you think we’ve known each other too long for you to still be able to creep up on me?” Killua asks, cracking a wry smile as he continues stacking books. “You might be able to fool Illumi, but not me.” </p><p>“Killua,” Gon says. “Why was he here?” </p><p>“I didn’t even know he was coming,” Killua admits. “I thought it was you who entered, but then turns out it wasn’t, and well, you heard the rest.” </p><p>“Do you think they know?” </p><p>“About what?” Killua asks, but it’s a stupid question, a guard placed in false ignorance. <em>About us. The stars. Our own side. </em>He sighs, “I don’t think so.” </p><p>Gon nods, “We’ll just have to be more careful, then.” </p><p>Killua looks up at him, and there is so much worry gleaming through his eyes, through trembling fingers, through shoulders that won’t relax. Gon gently takes one of Killua’s hands in his, just to hold them in their warmth, and doesn’t take any more than what Killua has offered him. </p><p>“I, uh, got you some chocolates,” Gon says quietly, a knot loosening in his throat as he tries to ease the tension. He’d deny it, but a part of him is furious — this was supposed to be a celebration, a happy ordeal, an affair of books and stability in a world that moved too fast. He holds the box up for Killua to see. It’s not fancy, a children’s snack that Gon’s noticed Killua’s taken quite a liking to ever since he had been introduced to them around a year ago. Gon favors them as well, but his sweet tooth is never going to crave the same way Killua’s does. “I think they got a little bashed around on the way here, sorry. I was running,” he finishes lamely. </p><p>“Oh, Gon,” Killua says, surprised. “Thank you! These are my favorites.” </p><p>“Don’t make a habit out of it,” Gon warns, unsure of whether he’s referring to Killua’s tendency to eat more sweets in a sitting than he should, or Gon indulging him on the rare occasion he buys gifts such as these. </p><p>“You know I can’t promise that,” Killua tells him, his smile growing wider. He places the box next to him on the counter, patting it for good measure. Killua turns back to look at him, “There’s an open table at the restaurant down the street. Mind accompanying me?”</p><p>“Was that not always the plan?” And just like that, the air graces them with an easier tension.  </p><p>They spend the rest of the afternoon together. If their table is at the rear end of the restaurant, unnoticeable and half-covered with shadows, they don’t comment on it. It’s a calm affair, but Illumi’s words and sudden appearance linger on their minds no matter how much noise the street makes around them, moving on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. They don’t say it, but they head for the park soon after to keep up with the sorely needed distraction, and Killua miracles crumbs of bread into their hands so that they can feed the ducks (Gon secretly wonders if he does the same once his chocolate storage has depleted, and resolves to ask another time). He can feel the worry radiating off of Killua the entire time, thoughts swirling as deep as the black of Illumi’s eyes. They say even less to each other than they usually do, and Gon tries not to feel like the tide is finally coming in, just as he always dreaded it to. </p><p>They part ways soon after — Killua has a new bookshop to run, after all, and Gon remembers the flower shop he had passed on the way there. They don’t bring up what they need to talk about. </p><p>“I’ll see you around?” Gon calls after him. </p><p>Killua pauses in the act of opening the store entrance. “Yes. See you.” And he enters the store without looking back. </p><p>“Right,” Gon mumbles, suddenly feeling very alone on the busy street. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A phone call, continents away</em>
</p><p>
  <em>1982</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Always true to his word, Killua does meet up with Gon often, despite Illumi’s words still obviously ringing in his head. Gon can’t say he’s any different. They are stolen moments now, snatched and made full, but never enough. </p><p>Still, when a good occasion rises, such as the annual Tanabata Festival, there is no one else Gon would want to spend it with than Killua. </p><p>“Are you going to be there?” Killua’s voice comes through the line when Gon brings up the festival, static cutting through.</p><p>“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Gon answers. “It sounds exciting! Based on a myth and everything.” He prays that the nerves he feels don’t translate into his words. Halfway across the world on a job, phone calls aren’t something he’s grown quite fond of yet. He hasn’t seen Killua in a while, and had half-expected Killua to not pick up the phone at all. </p><p>“I think,” Killua says, pausing (it’s not a hesitant one full of tension, but a promise that awaits instead), “I think I’ll see you there.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sendai, Japan</em>
</p><p>
  <em>1982</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Killua, look! Let’s go over there!” </p><p>“Jeez, Gon, slow down,” Killua says, but follows along anyway. The lights stream overhead, a coronation fit even for humans. There are no shadows tonight, even as the sun descends down on them. </p><p>Gon doesn’t know where he wants to go first — there are food and game stalls everywhere, along with lanterns hanging along gracefully, illuminating the dark street with the stars as a mentor. The smell of food wafts through the air from every corner, children run along the cobblestones, squealing in joy and excitement, and the soft gaze of the moon trails right after Gon wherever he chooses to go. It’s absolutely beautiful, with colorful tags of paper decorating tree branches and even bamboo stalks, everyone’s wishes and longing all culminated in one place, and Gon is at the center of it all. </p><p>There is an excitement that thrums in his bones, zips all throughout his body, a restlessness that reaches all the way to his fingertips. His hands tingle with a fervor that the stars had seen, a feeling that presses itself home on the curves that carve through his palm. Tanabata — a star festival to commemorate lovers torn apart by the sky, a forbidden longing. It feels all too familiar, a recklessness that turned quiet with the shine of a knowing face he’s come to recognize over millennia. </p><p>Gon stares at all the wishes that hang on every tree that passes by, and listens to all the clamor about the biggest Wish Tree, planted firmly at the end of the street, multicolored paper cranes and tags dangling gently as more and more are added to the collection, a coming home of sorts for those who wish to find their way. It’d an incredible sight to see, and Gon makes a mental note to visit at least once at the end of the night. He needs to bring Killua along with him when he does, especially if his wish is going to mean anything, if it’s ever going to make true of its purpose. </p><p>“Where do you want to go next?” Gon asks Killua once they collect their prize from the last game stall. He’s been having a lot of fun, even while Killua grumbles beside him at losing a game, the shine of his eyes betraying his words. They walk along the street, footsteps sharp against stone, and their hands brush. Gon wants to reach out, try and hold it, but decides against it. Tonight feels like a dream enough, a memory pulled out of time’s journal and laid down for the rest to walk on. A gift of fate, if once would be a taste and no more. It is enough as it is already, Gon thinks with a conviction he cannot muster. He is content. He will not ask for more. </p><p>That’s the problem, though. Clandestine meetings will only take him so far, but Gon’s never been one to do things halfway. </p><p>“That one,” Killua points to a stall across the street. Children line up, chasing each other’s shadows as they move forward slowly. It’s another stall where they can compete against each other for a small prize. This time it’s just a simple and small charm with a hidden fortune inside, but Gon knows that it is no reason to relax. If Gon knows Killua, then he is as competitive as he is just as much as he loves chocolate and has a soft spot for animals he sees on the street. The sure unbecoming of an angel, someone from upstairs may call it, but here on Earth, it is just Killua being himself. He glances at the angel as he runs towards it, determined to get there first. </p><p>“You’re just going to lose again,” Gon teases. </p><p>Killua flushes, the glow of pink on his cheeks faint but undoubtedly present. “That’s only because you keep cheating!” </p><p>Gon laughs. “I wouldn’t be a demon if I didn’t.” </p><p>Killua elbows him in the stomach, but it doesn’t hurt. Gon knows it’s not because he didn’t try. “I’m going to beat you, fair and square,” Killua states. </p><p>“We’ll see about that,” is all Gon says. </p><p>Gon wins. Killua had hit the last ball just slightly off-target. </p><p>He’s gloating, just slightly, a smug smile on his face as Killua complains next to him. The festivities continue, and there are talks of a firework show come midnight among the people who pass him by, which only furthers Gon’s anticipation. </p><p>But good things always end too soon. It comes to a bitter halt as they continue on their way across the street, when he notices that Killua gets less attentive as time passes by, less present and more in his head, the blue of his eyes turning into a flickering light even as the world brightens and the night grows colder. His responses come slower, back tense all of a sudden, shoulders raised, and it only seems to get worse when they get to the busier heart of the street. </p><p>“Killua, are you okay?” Gon asks. </p><p>Killua doesn’t answer, just stops when he notices Gon hasn’t kept walking, eyes flickering from side to side, lost in thought and checking corners. It reminds him of the day in the park right after Illumi’s visit, and the first drop of dread buries itself in his stomach. </p><p>Gon tries again. “Killua.” </p><p>“Yes?” Killua’s eyes snap towards him, clouded. He looks wary, more suspicious than curious at their surroundings. Gon’s heart twinges. </p><p>Switching tactic, Gon says, “You want to find us a spot for the fireworks show? I can get some snacks.” </p><p>“Sure,” Killua replies. He comes back slowly to the present, eyes widening as he realizes they now stand where green meets gray, the road parting for a grass that lives well-worn under countless footsteps. Some families are already sitting down, preparing small blankets for them to rest on as they await for the fireworks. Children play around, and vendors walk around carrying glowing toys and light sticks for them to play with. </p><p>Gon nods without further acknowledgement, and only hopes that leaving Killua by himself will give him some time to think by himself just in time for the fireworks show. Gon heads back from where they came and aims for a stall that sold warm pork buns, a proper snack for a cold night. </p><p>He makes quick work of it, exchanging a few coins, which had suddenly appeared from his empty pocket, for four warm pork buns and some bottled water. They melt the chill in his fingertips immediately, wrapped at the bottom of a paper bag. Gon fights the temptation to eat one already, deciding to wait until he’s back with Killua and sitting on a grass, waiting for the sky to light up — a setting both of them are well accustomed to by now. He doesn’t know why this had become one of their recurring activities together, but he’s grateful for them nonetheless. That way, he can blame the calm that washes over him like a wave on the stars’ consistency instead of the presence of the angel beside him. </p><p>Gon makes his way towards the grassy area quickly, but not without bumping into a few people on the way. When he’s almost back to the spot where he had left Killua, he runs into a small child, face swollen red and tears streaming down her face. </p><p>“Oh, are you alright?” Gon asks, crouching down to meet her eyes properly. It’s a stupid question, honestly, considering how she bursts into tears once more, sobs noisily wracking her body as she stares at him, eyes full of fear. Gon is slightly panicking; this doesn’t come natural to him. He knows his eyes aren’t the most comforting color like Killua’s ocean’s calm, and he doesn’t have much experience with kids, but he feels the need to help her, even if it goes against the definition of, not who he is, but who he’s supposed to be. </p><p>“I’m lost,” she mumbles in an answer, before hiccuping, shoulders rising. She tries to wipe the tears from his face, and Gon pulls her along to the side of the street, where there are less people wandering by. </p><p>“I’m going to try and help you, alright?” Gon says. He pulls out the bottled water from the paper bag and hands it to her. “Here, drink this. It’ll help.” </p><p>She takes the bottle from him reluctantly, and he waits patiently. It’s the only thing he can do for her to trust him. He brings out a pork bun from the bag too, and he gestures at it silently with his hand, to which she nods, exchanging the water for the food. She’s a lot calmer now, but still as tense as when he first bumped into her. </p><p>“Who came here with you?” Gon asks her. </p><p>“My sister,” she answers, taking a small bite. She must like the flavor, since she takes another no less than a few seconds later. </p><p>He keeps his voice gentle and even. “Where did you see her last?” </p><p>“We were going to watch the fireworks,” she tells him. “And I got excited, so I ran ahead and when I turned around, I couldn’t—” Tears well up in her eyes once more, nose now rubbed red. “I couldn’t—” </p><p>“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, reaching out to rub her arm with the lightest touch. “We’ll find her, okay? She’s around here somewhere.” </p><p>“I’m scared,” the child whispers, and the unadulterated fear in her voice stills him. It feels like he’s being doused in cold water, much more piercing than any hellfire he can withstand, when he realizes it. Gon can comfort her, can give her water and feed her, but there is nothing he can do to erase this panic, to unlearn this fear. For all of his efforts and musings, he is still a demon. He was created to instill this exact fear, to cause this exact terror. In the peace of a child’s joy, it is his job to fuel fear’s chaos. Who has he been kidding this whole time, with half-damned temptations and attempts at comforting strangers on the street? </p><p>Certainly not Killua. But there must be something that grows in his efforts, if Killua had chosen to stick with him this whole time, right? </p><p>He thinks of distant eyes and Illumi’s voice, how, right now, those miniscule moments tower over any stargazing, any sightseeing he has done with Killua over the years, any conversation filled with playful competitiveness and human observations. </p><p>Before he can dwell too much on any of that, a voice shouts over the crowd, “There you are!” </p><p>A girl in a blue yukata  marches towards them, tears in her eyes and features very much like the child who had eaten one of Gon’s pork buns. As soon as she reaches her sister, she tackles her in a hug. “Don’t ever run off like that again!” she cries. “I was so worried!” </p><p>“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again,” the younger child says, voice wobbly and muffled through tears. </p><p>“Come on,” the older sister says, standing up and dusting off their outfits. “Let’s go home.” Then, she turns towards Gon, as if noticing his existence for the first time. She bows, “Thank you for taking care of her!” </p><p>“Ah, it was no problem,” Gon tells her awkwardly. “I didn’t really do anything.” She was still downright terrified, he hadn’t done anything in the end that had actually eased her, he doesn’t say.  </p><p>“You fed her and gave her water,” she points out. “I know my sister, and she isn’t that easy to calm down, so that already means a lot. Thank you again!” Before Gon can refute or give his own goodbye, she turns around and holds a hand out for her sister to take, and both of them disappear with the crowd, leaving him alone. </p><p>He doesn’t want to think about her words, how she had insisted he had helped. There must be a seed of truth in that — there was no reason for her to lie. But he still can’t shake the feeling of uselessness and doubt that shrouds over him. Maybe the fireworks will be bright enough to burn them away, at least for the night. </p><p>He shakes his head, then forces himself to move towards where he had last seen Killua. There are even more people waiting for the firework display, and he can’t spot Killua anywhere. <em>Now I’m the one who’s lost</em>, Gon muses. Families collect among themselves all around him, squealing in excitement as they prepare for the show in comfort. Lots are snacking as well, and Gon wants to eat his pork bun quite terribly now. </p><p>It’s a good thing he always finds Killua, no matter how long it takes. </p><p>The angel is standing off to the side, not sitting yet, and Gon doesn’t know how he had ever missed him in the first place. Killua glows under the awaiting moonlight, white hair glinting off as pure as the stars above. It’s a miracle of nature on its own, a brightness that shadows cower against, a battle they are meant to lose. The trails of his yukata flows with the wind’s song, cloth simple yet intricate in design. The sight gathers something in Gon’s lungs, words he isn’t meant to speak, a touch that lingers years on after it had been lit under him for just a moment. He’s spent many moments just like this, but he’s never any less breathless. </p><p>Gon’s never understood the human expression of falling in love. You must understand, he’s fallen before, clumsy and unwanted, and it had done nothing but leave him confused and tripping in the dark for memories that have long faded from his grasp. But this feeling, forbidden as the festival’s mythological foundation and as overwhelming as the colorful wishes hanging on trees, couldn’t have been any more different. Gon isn’t falling, or maybe he just did a very long time ago, twice in such a quick succession that he had never noticed it, never once looked down at his feet to see how far he’s come in this new light. </p><p>Love, as he’s come to learn but never meet, has many appearances. Love is a traitor on a Greek battlefield, a poison that leads to the downfall of the greatest warrior of the time. Love is unsent letters by friends torn apart by distance and time, and it is the certainty of French mountains and the calm of a lake. Love is a poet’s muse to the most famous plays and theatrics. Love just might be the soft snip of scissors as the window curtains sing along to the wind. Love might have been the faint glow of an aurora right above his head, a warmth in his hands despite the chill that swept through the rest of his body. </p><p>Maybe, just maybe, love had taken the form of a silver haired angel in a garden. A bird readying itself for flight despite it all. </p><p>So quite possibly he has met love before, had come to recognize it in the soft crinkles near his eyes when he smiles at a silly joke or is gifted with his favorite chocolate, had learned it through the way he laughs like it’s the first time, the miracles he dreams for the luckless. It’s quite ridiculous, now that Gon thinks about it, unthinkable and borderline preposterous, because he might just know love, and how could he not, when he’s known Killua his whole life? When he cannot think of a time the two did not mean the same thing? </p><p>“Gon, over here!” Killua waves, spotting him. </p><p>Gon makes his way over to him, puts one step in front of the other just as he always has, towards this thing that he’s finally learned the name for. </p><p>“What did you get?” Killua asks him as they both sit down on the small blanket sprawled over the grass. Gon can only assume that Killua had conjured it out of nowhere. </p><p>“Meat buns!” he answers, and Killua lets out a small cheer. They arrange themselves beside each other and a hush falls over everyone as the announcement is heard — the fireworks are about to begin. </p><p>It’s as every bit amazing as Gon had assumed it would be and he finds himself letting out little sounds of amazement as they pop through the sky, leaving trails of smoke as they burn out in the darkness. The afterimage remains on his mind for each one, printed by the way his heart beats with the rhythm of the fireworks, a conductor’s talent. He glances at Killua more than once all the while, heart still hammering at revelations he can’t call new, not even by a long-shot. Every gasp Killua makes at the fireworks feels more of a cannon boom reminder. With the light from the sky and the heat from beside him, he knows that the night will leave its mark, a bookmark on this age-old chapter. </p><p>Right after, they finally head on to the Wish Tree. Killua seems to love the idea of it, skepticism absent as they make their way towards it. True to its name, it must be the largest tree in the whole street, foundation strong enough to carry the burden of heavy hearts. There are even more paper tags now, lined with scribbles and handwritings Gon can barely read. Without hesitation but a bout of hope, Gon writes down his own wish on a piece of paper and waits for Killua so that they can hang theirs up together. They work silently, Gon’s blue tag now lost among the kaleidoscope of colors, but somewhere, Killua’s own green hangs right beside it. </p><p>When they walk away from it, ready to call it a night, Gon speaks up, “What did you wish for?” </p><p>Killua gives him a look. “I can’t tell you. That would defeat the whole point.” </p><p>“It kind of feels like praying,” Gon says, thoughtful. The lanterns haven’t dimmed by even the slightest, a runner-up in the brightness of tonight. “But I know this one will come true.” </p><p>Killua raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?” </p><p>Gon just shrugs. “Just a feeling.” </p><p>They finally end up where they had first met up, and it feels like a slow dance is coming to an end. Gon doesn’t know when he’ll see Killua next, whether he’ll be graced enough to see him within the next few years. He really doesn’t want to leave just yet, but dawn is creeping up on them and the clock has never once stopped ticking. </p><p>Gon swallows, “Maybe we can have lunch tomorrow? If...if you’re still going to be around?” </p><p>Killua hesitates, and the second drop of dread comes, trickling in Gon’s stomach. He doesn’t know how to stop it, black and all-consuming. “Gon,” Killua says, eyes firmly planted on the broken cobblestones, “don’t you think we’re pushing it too far, going too fast? What if we get caught?” </p><p>Gon’s knees feel weak all of a sudden, buckling and jittery. His throat wants to close up with all the words he cannot say out loud. His heart is stuck in it, and he does not want to lose this. </p><p>A cab rolls up the street, quiet and summoned with a slow flick of Killua’s wrist. Its engine barely hums in the aftersound of the festival, unassuming and unnoticeable. </p><p>Killua looks at the car the same time he does, then finally stares up at Gon. His eyes are full of unshed tears, nose painted red. It’s a sight he’s already seen once today in a little girl, confrontations that leave him scrambling for the right things to say. </p><p>“I don’t want to keep secrets like this, but I want to keep you. I don’t want to lose any of this, but I’m just…” </p><p>And Gon gets it. Because at the center of all of this, at the beginning of time and at the end of the world, Killua is an angel. Gon is a demon and Killua is an angel, and angels <em>love</em>. They do not go against their orders, but this might be the most paradoxical circumstance of it all. Gon has no ties to Hell the way Killua does with Heaven, he does not have to worry about demons watching over him that closely, selfishness reigning above all things. For Killua, to go against Heaven, must be the hardest thing he has been trying to overcome, a journey of a thousand footsteps he is only halfway through, even after millennia. It isn’t about getting caught, not about punishments that could occur after, because this form of juxtaposition between Gon and Heaven is trouble enough, a scar that lingers long after the battle. If Killua were to ever openly love Gon back, what would that entail? </p><p>“I’m<em> terrified</em>, Gon,” Killua whispers, but it’s the loudest thing he could have ever said. </p><p>He didn’t know what to say to the child a few hours prior, but he does now. The words come to him suddenly, like they’ve been there all along and it was only a matter of a heart’s time. </p><p>Gon doesn’t reach out, just hopes that words will be enough for now. That they will reach him in ways Gon physically cannot. He’s met love now, and he refuses to leave it, to bury this hope. “I can be brave for the both of us for now,” he says, words simple, “and then you can meet me halfway. I’ll wait for you.” </p><p>He doesn’t know if they do. Killua doesn’t say anything, just gets into the car and as it drives away, Gon wonders if Killua knows that he carries Gon’s heart with him. </p><p>Long behind them, a tag, scribbled with <em>that the sun will rise on our side</em>, sways along with the breeze, half-forgotten but passed along. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Gon’s cottage (exact whereabouts to be remained confidential) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>2002</em>
</p><p> </p><p>If Gon has barely seen Killua around before, this time, the angel makes himself scarce. He tries to pretend it doesn’t hurt, pulls the curtains down on windows that had only begun to open, a gaping absence that he thought he’d finally be rid of. Killua was avoiding him, and the world wasn’t ending in a few hours, really, it wasn’t, but it sure felt like it was. </p><p>Gon busies himself with his garden, and he ends up going around the world just to try seeding his own rarities and uncommon plants, borages and chicories blooming on his windowsill, sunflowers and dandelions growing at the very front of his yard. He forms a routine eventually — rise with the sun, because even if the world feels like its ending every night does not mean the sun has been informed of this, tend to the garden, walk along the park and try to convince himself he isn’t hoping to bump into someone in particular, go for a light jog and watch the ducks swim along the pond, and then go home at the end of the day to a cup of tea, where a packet of hot chocolate powder resides in one of the cabinets, waiting to be used. </p><p>He still does temptations every now and then and fills up the corresponding paperwork, but it’s not any more different than his usual antics. Taking down the country’s telephone lines even for a morning had proven more difficult than a snap of his fingers, replacing all the minty toothpaste with ketchup at all the groceries had been fun, the echo of a laugh and a scold trailing after him, and making sure no one’s coffee machines would work had only ended him with grouchier neighbors wherever he went. </p><p>(On the errands he submits himself to, he passes by Killua’s bookstore. It’s an occasional run-in, varying through different parts of the day with a crowd on his tail and the engines of nearby cars, but one thing always remains the same: the <em>closed</em> sign, hanging deliberately at the center of the entrance. It never would have stopped him before, but now — it’s just different. </p><p>Funny how he said he’d be the brave one, when he can’t even bring himself to knock on a door.) </p><p>Some nights, he finds himself on the roof, and as usual, with the stars. They serve as more of a reminder than a comfort these days, but he appreciates them nonetheless. It is during the worse days that he imagines a different time, one where maybe he was human instead, and Killua might be one too, and they didn’t have to deal with years that pass by quickly and consequences of just sitting beside each other. He imagines a different cottage down the road, but his garden is still on the front lawn, full of the brightest flowers with sunspots to match, hot chocolate a permanent scent in the kitchen. He’d like to have that, if he could. If Killua would let him. Someday, maybe. </p><p>There have been a lot of <em>maybes</em> lately. </p><p>It’s awfully lonely, without Killua. Like he’s back in the garden all over again, watching the birth of the sun every morning without prompt. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>St. James Park, London</em>
</p><p>
  <em>2010</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Gon doesn’t know how many times he’s watched the sunset, going on six thousand years on Earth, but it’s never quite the same marvelous picture to look at, colors only marking the sky once before leaving for another to take its place, clouds shifting in their indecisiveness of what form to take. It’s breathtaking everytime, even when threatened by thunderstorms and a chaos of man’s own invention. </p><p>He’d strolled this park for the entire afternoon, resting on the side benches and enjoying the beautiful weather. The sun had been up for most of it, but it didn’t prickle his skin or force a sweat out of him, the cool breeze compensating for all the heat the sun was to torment. He had even fed the ducks in the pond earlier the way Killua had taught him to, <em>don’t feed them too much. You have to let them come to you</em>. They’d enjoyed his little gift, waddling closer to him once they had gotten over their initial skepticism. People had stopped by and stared at him, watching the trail of ducks that hurried to keep up with him, but he didn’t mind them. </p><p>The day is over now, though, as the sun begins its descent onto another hemisphere, another time. He’s about to head on home again, moving to find the exact path that would lead him to the park entrance, when he sees a flash of white hair from the opposite direction, where there is still a bit of a crowd and wide trees lining the repaired cement walkway. It’s unmistakable. </p><p>Gon doesn’t think twice before he’s rushing forward, darting in between walking friends and jogging athletes, to where Killua had been. But he isn’t there anymore. </p><p>A sigh seeps out of his lips, shoulders dropping in disappointment, but to his left, he hears a twig snap in only the way someone trying to hide would step on it. He hears a familiar voice mutter a curse, and a curl of white peeks out through the branches. Gon can’t help but think this might be the most foolish thing Killua’s ever attempted; he would notice Killua anywhere in the world. He’s got the experience to prove it. </p><p>Gon doesn’t know whether to smile or run away, but he calls out anyway, before his nerve can get the best of him, “I know you’re over there. You should come out.” The words feel distantly familiar on his tongue, as if he’s simply repeating words that had been uttered long before. </p><p>There isn’t any reaction from behind the tree, so he tries it once more. “Killua,” he says, crossing his arms, “stop being silly.” </p><p>And right there, as if time’s weather had not changed him all along, Killua appears before him, wearing the most casual clothes he’s ever seen him in. He walks up slowly to Gon, keeping his distance. “Good to see you, Gon,” he greets. </p><p>“Hi, Killua,” Gon says back, just to keep the awkwardness at bay for a few more seconds. “What have you been up to?” </p><p>“Just been here and there,” Killua replies, waving a hand. “You won’t believe how many people knock on the store as if they don’t see the closed sign right there.” </p><p>Gon smiles. As the shadows come out, leaving only half Killua’s face in the orange tint of the sun, he still looks beautiful. So Gon decides to charge on straight ahead to the bottom, and see where it leads him from there. There isn’t anything he can think of that he isn’t on the verge of losing, anyway. “Killua, did I do something wrong?” It’s three tones of nervous and hesitant everywhere else. “Why have you been avoiding me?” </p><p>Killua’s mouth turns down by worry’s weight, a tad surprised by the straightforwardness. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to.” He inhales, steeling himself, tilting his head as he gestures at Gon. “Come on, let’s go somewhere more private to talk.” </p><p>Gon might’ve been too preoccupied with Killua, because he hadn’t noticed that there are less people now that the sun is on its last leg of the race. The trail they walk on leads them to the center of the park, where all the dirt roads find themselves running towards a small gazebo. For all of the crowd that gathers in it during the day, magicians and mines taking center stage, and music heard throughout the whole park by aspiring musicians, it’s empty now. Killua leads him to the steps and towards the edge, where he leans against the railing. </p><p>The sun is a memory made not long ago when Killua finally speaks up. “When we first met,” Killua says, voice soft, looking out at the rising moon. It had seen them through it all, and reassuringly, Gon thinks, it will see them through this, after everything. “I thought, you are the most incredible thing I have ever seen, with your caring fingers soothing a bird, black wings behind you, and I better keep it a safe distance away from me.” </p><p>Something warm and fuzzy grows in Gon’s chest, and he knows the surprise is evident on his face. “Killua—”</p><p>“But then you kept showing me the stars after city lights have run them dry, until there was nothing I wanted to do about it,” Killua says, smiling softly at the sky. “We were never even supposed to be friends, Gon.” </p><p>“Do you...still want to be?” Gon asks, weak. There is certainly a lot to unpack here, years of Killua’s thoughts uttered in a single sentence he is yet to fully comprehend the depth of, of uncertainty and doubt over whether Killua would want this — whatever <em>this </em>is — as much as he does. There’s a knife to his heart, an arrow to his throat, and he stays so very still at the edge. </p><p>Because after a declaration like that, if Killua tells him now that he never wants to see Gon again, then what else can he do but accept it? To be shunned twice is an ordeal he is now tripping the line for. </p><p>“There’s going to be a war, someday,” Killua says, finally facing him. His eyes are shinier than usual, the gift of the moon’s gleam and the picture of tears threatening to spill. “And I <em>can’t</em>,” Killua continues, voice trembling, “I don’t want to have to face someone I love.” </p><p>Oh. </p><p>“You’re not going to,” Gon says, firm and abrupt, not thinking his words through because it feels like he might short-circuit if he dwells on Killua’s for too long, let them flourish like the plants he dotes on everyday. “I don’t have any plans to join the war.” </p><p>“You can’t just say that!” Killua snaps. “What if they force you?” This, he says more quietly, a tired desperation. </p><p>“Would you allow them to make <em>you</em>?” Gon counters. </p><p>“No, I—” Killua’s eyes flick down. “I don’t want to be a part of it either.” </p><p>“That settles it then, doesn’t it?” </p><p>“You know that’s not how it works,” Killua tells him. His eyes show every color in the night sky. </p><p>It’s silent again for a moment and they both don’t know what to say. What Gon said was true, and he had decided it long ago. He doesn’t want any part in something that would take the Earth, all the life he has seen, all the days they have worked for to simply end in a war that was never man’s part to play. He doesn’t see the point in it, when it will all just end in worse destruction than anything they’ve seen before, when there won’t be anything left to fight for. </p><p>“I meant what I said last time,” Gon says, adding to the sound of crickets hidden among the bushes. He keeps his voice level for what might be one of the most important things he’ll ever have to say. “I’ll brave it. Whatever it is, as long as I’m with you.” </p><p>Killua’s hand on the railing grows whiter as he grasps it, but his attention is on Gon. “Aren’t you worried?” he asks. </p><p>“Of course. I'm terrified,” Gon says. “But Killua, if I have learned anything from humans from all our time on this planet, then it is to do the scary thing anyway.” He steadies himself, “And if I’m going to have any love in this life, then it’s going to be for you. Always has been.” </p><p>Killua’s face softens at him, and Gon tries not to let his nerves overwhelm him, warmth spreading all over the back of his neck and crawling onto his cheekbones. It’s been six thousand years, surely he can handle saying the words that his heart has known for so long. The dam has finally broken after so many centuries of pushing and prodding, of balancing the tightrope only to finally fall in the end. He continues, “Maybe I don’t know what love is, I’m a demon. But I’m sure I do,” and there are no more <em>maybes</em> as he takes Killua’s hand, “because I know you. And is there anything wrong with a life that’s spent with the one you love?” </p><p>It might be a miracle or the turn of a page, but Killua squeezes his hand in reply, eyes painted familiar but brand new. “No, there isn’t.” He nudges Gon softly with his elbow, letting out a small laugh at a sudden realization. “This whole time, I’ve been trying to figure out how I could still have you with me, but not feel like I’m crossing the line. And here you are, saying a few words and fixing it like it was simple all along.” </p><p>The beginnings of a smile finally form on his face, and Gon decides that he no longer needs the sun. “We’ll keep figuring it out, Killua,” he says. “And besides, the war is just a big rumor, anyway. Who knows if it's even the <em>ineffable</em> plan?” He wiggles his fingers at the word, and Killua rolls his eyes. </p><p>“So our side, it is?” Killua says. <em>As it has been all along, </em>goes unsaid. There will be more conversations much later, understandings to be made whole and truths that need a little adjusting. The war is still as much of a possibility as the sun bursting, and they both know difficult times lie ahead. But they will be at Gon’s small house, with hot chocolate finally being drunk out of steaming mugs, flowers being introduced by their maker to an angel who has learned to love the night, moonlight strong enough to mute the edges of darkness. </p><p>“Our own side,” Gon affirms. And it might not be the conventional confessions of love that humans have accustomed themselves to, but this is a promise worth remembering, one that’s taken years to finally come to fruition, important to just the two of them in a world that has always chosen one over the other. A reminder that they will stay, right here, for as long as time will allow them. </p><p>“We’re pretty much the worst angel and demon to ever exist,”  Killua says. </p><p>Gon laughs, the ringing of a wind chime. “Yeah. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Home</em>
</p><p>
  <em>the very first day of the rest of their lives</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The story ends as it began — an angel and a demon at a garden, tending to a bird with a broken wing. Gon would argue, however, that this is not the end, but simply the beginning of a new chapter in their lives. </p><p>The bird had flown long ago now, as Killua knew how to calm the bird down before it could even begin to whimper in pain, nimble hands soothing down black feathers. Gon has teased him for it, but at the same time awfully proud at how he didn’t even need to lift more than a finger. They watch it fly away onto a nearby tree, no doubt where it will build a nest for its eggs to lay in within a couple of weeks. </p><p>Gon thinks back to this morning, when Killua had kissed him on the cheek just before rushing for the bookstore without another word, and it had left him dazed for the rest of the day. Not even the growth of a particularly difficult plant had been enough to excite him back to reality, with the warmth of Killua’s lips still lingering on his skin. Now, as he gives the front yard one more look-over before the end of the day, this is when he realizes that there isn’t anything Heaven has that he can’t find right here on Earth, with stars in the sky, a garden to tend at his fingertips, and Killua by his side — he’s been granted a miracle, all along. </p><p>Killua hums as he joins Gon, watching the sun sink in the sky, shadows angling themselves right on the world below. Killua slips his hand into Gon’s, steady and new. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” </p><p>Gon smiles, and meets Killua’s eyes, age old but never weathered, as brilliant as they were on the first day. “There is nothing for you to apologize for. What’s a few thousand years, anyway?”</p><p>Killua laughs, nothing more than a soft and happy huff, and Gon remembers thinking once, near a Greek shoreline, that he would do anything to hear it again. He could now, if he wanted to. </p><p>The world continues on spinning, but it feels a little brighter somehow, like glass taking on new light, like a warm hand in his to hold onto forever. </p><p>They have all the time in the world. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you can find me on tumblr <a href="https://sunlitday.tumblr.com">here</a>! </p><p>thank you for reading! :D</p></blockquote></div></div>
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